APR  11  1918 


LIFE    AND    LETTERS    OF 
STOPFORD    BROOKE 


Brooke  in  1905. 

From  a  phutoyrapli.  Iiy  (1.  f.  IleresJ'ovd. 


[Frontis2nece  to  ^'ol.  II. 


LIFE   AND   LETTERS  OF 
STOPFORD    BROOKE 


1/ 


BY  LAWRENCE    PEARSALL    JACKS 

M.A.,    HON.    LL.D.  and  D.D. 

PRINCIPAL   OF    MANCHESTER   COLLEGE,    OXFORD 


Thy  voice  is  on  the  roUing  air ; 
I  hear  thee  where  the  waters  run. ' 


VOLUME    II 


NEW   YORK 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 

1917 


PRINTED  BT 

WILLIAM    CLOWES  AND  SONS,    LIMITED 

LONDON    AND   BECOLES,    ENGLAND 


All  rights  reserved 


CONTENTS 


BOOK  IV 

PROPHET   AND   POET 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XVIII.    Afteb  Secession.    1880-1890 351 

XIX.     Letters  to  Various  Correspondents.     1882-1894  .  382 

XX.    Home  Life 412 

XXI.     Letters  to  his  Daughters.     1882-1896 .         .         .  426 

XXII.     Last  Years  at  Bedford  Chapel.     1890-1895          .  447 


BOOK  V 

THE   SECOND   HARVEST 


XXIIT.  A  Renewal  of  Youth 

XXIV.  Brooke's  Relations  with  the  Unitarians     . 

XXV.  Extracts  prom  the  Diary  of  1899 

XXVI.  Letters  to  Various  Correspondents.     1894-1906 

XXVII.  The  Myth  op  the  Three  Springs.    1898-1908 

XXVIII.  Extracts  from  the  Diary  op  1904 


471 
493 
501 
518 
547 
567 


VI 


CONTENTS 


BOOK   VI 


OLD   AGE 


CHAPTER 

XXIX.    Attainment 


XXX.  EXTBACTS   FROM  THE   DiAEY   OF   1908. 

XXXI.  Extracts  prom  the  Diary  of  1909 

XXXII.  Letters  to  Various  Correspondents.    1908 

XXXIII.  Letters  to  Viscount  Bryce.    1899-1916 

XXXIV.  His  Thoughts  on  the  Great  War 
XXXV.  The  End.     1916 

XXXVI.  Last  Letters  ...... 

INDEX    


1914 


PAGE 
581 

593 
608 
618 
635 
651 
665 
677 

691 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


TO  FACE  PAQB 

1.  Brooke  in  1905  .         .         .  Frontispiece  to  Vol  II. 

2.  The  Father  op  Brooke 392 

3.  Brooke    in    the    Garden    of    Wordsworth's    Cottage, 

Grasmere,  in  1892 464 

4.  William  Brooke 488 

5.  Brooke  in  1901 606 

6.  Under  the  Great  Beech  at  the  Four  Winds,  1915       .  670 


LIFE  AND   LETTEES   OP 
STOPFOED   BEOOKE 

CHAPTER  XVIII 

AFTER   SECESSION 

1880-1890 

"  I  went  to  the  Tate  Gallery  to  see  the  Turners,  and  we  walked  back 
to  Westminster  Abbey,  and  entered  and  sat  down  in  the  Nave.  I  felt 
regret  that  I  could  no  longer  preach  there  :  but  it  was  no  mistake,  my 
leaving  the  Church."— (Diar^/,  June  28,  1907.) 

"  I  listened  [as  I  stood]  outside  the  church  to  the  hymns — emblem 
of  my  position  in  the  religious  world  of  England.  .  .  .  But  I,  as  I  read 
the  papers,  and  see  that  the  Church  has  learnt  nothing,  but  still  goes 
on  talking  of  certain  debateablc  doctrines  as  realities,  and  persuading 
their  world  that  these  inventions  are  celestial  truths,  and  not  the  mere 
rags  of  the  lies  they  were  of  old,  when  alive  and  bold  they  were  the 
tyrants  of  mankind — I  wonder  if  men  will  ever,  or  can  ever,  on  this 
earth,  distinguish  death  from  life,  lies  from  truth,  and  the  things  that 
endure  from  those  that  perish.  And  I  don't  regret  that  I  am  out  of 
it  all,  free  as  the  wind  on  a  mountain  moor  and  as  alone." — (Diary, 
August  11, 1907.) 

Brooke's  secession  was  not  imitated  by  other  clergy- 
men except  in  one  or  two  instances,  nor  is  it  clear  that 
even  these  were  directly  due  to  his  example.  Its  chief 
influence  was  on  the  lay  rather  than  on  the  clerical 
mind :  and  it  was  a  moral  rather  than  an  ecclesiastical 
event.  A  mass  of  letters  written  to  Brooke  by  laymen,  of 
which  some  specimens  have  been  given  in  the  last  chapter, 
lies  before  me.  Their  drift  may  be  summarized  in  a 
sentence.  They  inform  Brooke  that  his  action  has  con- 
firmed the  writers  in  their  attitude  towards  the  Church 
— that  of  refusal  to  take  part  in  its  services  on  the  ground 


352  AFTEE   SECESSION 

that  the  Creeds  cannot  be  honestly  believed  nor  honestly 
recited.  I  say  nothing  of  the  justice  of  this  argument ; 
to  discuss  that  is  no  part  of  my  present  business.  But 
it  is  a  point  of  great  importance  in  view  of  the  statement 
which  has  been  so  often  made,  that  Brooke's  secession 
was  without  effect  on  the  Church  of  England.  To  prove 
this  would  be  difficult  even  if  the  clergy  alone  had  to  be 
considered;  for  though  it  were  true  that  not  a  single 
clergyman  imitated  the  example  of  Brooke,  it  would  not 
follow  that  the  clergy  were  unaffected. 

Professional  teachers  of  religion  are  apt  to  look  at 
such  matters  too  exclusively  from  their  own  point  of 
view,  and  if  they  are  not  moved  from  their  places,  to 
draw  the  inference  that  nothing  is  moving  in  the  world. 
We  shall  get  a  truer  measure  of  Brooke's  action  if  we 
look  away  from  its  ecclesiastical  bearings  and  consider 
it  as  an  event  in  the  moral  history  of  the  times. 

It  took  place  at  a  time,  not  yet  expired,  when  the 
standard  of  truth  in  religion  was  suffering  discredit  by 
comparison  with  the  standard  of  truth  in  the  sciences, 
and  it  was  one  of  the  efforts  which  a  few  bold  spirits 
were  making  to  bring  the  two  standards  to  the  same  level. 
Whether  it  was  necessary  to  secede  from  the  Church  in 
order  to  accomplish  this  may  be  open  to  dispute,  and  no 
doubt  there  is  a  danger  of  Jjophistry  on  both  sides  of  the 
argument.  But,  rightly  or  wrongly,  Brooke  felt  that 
the  sophistry  was  all  on  one  side,  and,  since  no  man 
could  be  more  unfitted  to  play  the  part  of  a  sophist 
either  with  pleasure  or  success,  he  resolved  to  cut  himself 
clear  of  the  mists  and  bring  the  matter  down  to  the 
simple  test  of  yea,  yea,  and  nay,  nay.  This,  at  all  events, 
was  well  meant,  and  the  right  intention  of  it  was  widely 
and  quickly  recognized.  A  great  deal  was  said  about  it 
in  the  press,  but   even   the   Church   Times,  which  was 


CHABACTER  OF   HIS   CONGREGATION    353 

strongly  opposed  to  his  teaching,  did  not  fail  to  give 
him  credit  for  honesty;  and  this  was  the  general  tone 
of  the  newspaper  comments.  All  which  tends  to  show 
that  the  secession,  altogether  apart  from  ecclesiastical 
considerations,  was  having  a  moral  effect. 

This  was  most  timely,  and  gave  him  a  wider  public 
than  he  had  commanded  before.  A  small  number  of 
people  left  Bedford  Chapel,  but  that  surely  is  not  to  be 
weighed  as  a  moral  fact  against  the  general  recognition 
of  his  honesty  and  courage.  The  congregation  he 
attracted  was  composed  predominantly  of  thoughtful  men 
and  women,  many  of  whom  had  given  up  the  habit  of 
public  worship  until  they  came  under  Brooke's  influence, 
men  of  science,  doctors,  barristers,  artists,  actors,  public 
singers,  journalists,  members  of  Parliament.  It  was 
upon  people  of  this  class,  and  they  were  a  great  multi- 
tude, that  his  example  and  his  influence  produced  their 
chief  effects.  Through  them  his  message  was  touching 
the  central  currents  of  English  life.  He  was  preaching 
the  religion  of  Love  unhampered  by  dogma — of  human 
love  which,  in  its  noblest  form,  becomes  divine,  and 
holding  forth  a  great  ideal  of  public  duty  as  its  necessary 
consequence  and  chief  form  of  expression.  Many  persons 
of  weight  and  influence  were  learning  this  lesson  from 
Brooke  who  would  not  have  learnt  it  from  anybody  else. 
Mr  Haweis  indeed  declared  that  his  action  in  seceding 
was  "an  anachronism."^  So  perhaps  it  was  from  the 
point  of  view  of  clergymen  holding  Mr  Haweis'  opinions 
about  the  ethics  of  subscription.  But  to  multitudes  of 
the  laity,  who  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  men  of 
religion  are  under  the  same  obligation  as  men  of  science 
to  say  what  they  mean,  there  was  no  anachronism.  It 
is  true,  as  was  often  pointed   out  at  the  time,   that 

'  In  a  letter  to  the  Daily  News. 


354  AFTER   SECESSION 

Brooke's  secession  was  a  loss  to  progressive  tendencies 
within  the  Church  of  England.  But  we  must  not  forget 
that  it  was  a  gain,  and  perhaps  a  greater  gain,  to  pro- 
gressive tendencies  elsewhere. 

More  akin  to  our  present  purpose  is  the  question  of 
the  effect  on  Brooke  himself.  This  may  be  shortly 
answered.  The  effect  was  a  liberation  of  mental, 
moral,  spiritual  energy.  The  freedom  that  he  won  was 
freedom  for  the  unrestricted  expression  of  his  own 
personality,  and  his  whole  nature  rushed  forward  in  a 
fresh  outburst  of  prophetic  fire  and  creative  imagination. 
The  years  that  followed  were  years  of  intense  and  many- 
sided  activity. 

And  this  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  a  time  was  now 
come  when  the  ills  of  the  body  began  to  exact  their  toll. 
To  the  end  of  the  seventies  Brooke  had  enjoyed  exuberant 
health,  save  for  such  interruptions  as  were  incident  to  a 
finely  balanced  nervous  organization.  His  frame  was 
tall,  massive,  and  exactly  proportioned,  his  movements 
vigorous,  his  step  rapid,  his  eye  kindled,  his  face  aglow 
with  light  and  colour.  He  was  capable  of  great  physical 
exertion,  and  loved  it.  As  he  climbed  the  mountains  or 
walked  in  the  wind  his  blood  would  take  fire  in  the  pure 
air  and  his  whole  being  overflow  with  elemental  joy. 
In  moments  when  he  was  eager  or  impassioned  his  fine 
hair,  which  stood  like  a  cloud  about  his  head,  would  stir 
and  creep  and  expand  itself  as  though  it  possessed  a  life 
of  its  own — a  strange  thing  which  I  have  often  witnessed. 
This  radiant  vitality  Brooke  never  lost,  notwithstanding 
that  during  the  years  of  his  greatest  activity,  and  indeed 
to  the  time  of  his  death,  he  had  to  endure  recurrent  and 
protracted  battles  with  pain.  The  habit  of  standing  at 
his  desk  had  gradually  brought  on  an  injury  to  the  veins 
of   the   legs,  and  in  '77  he  was  suddenly  attacked   by 


HIS   BATTLE   WITH   PAIN  355 

phlebitis  and  compelled  to  lie  low  for  several  months. 
This  distressing  malady  continued  to  recur  at  intervals 
for  many  years  ;  the  threat  of  it  was  always  present,  and 
though  the  menace  to  life  was  not  direct,  there  were 
dangers  connected  with  the  disease  which  momentary 
carelessness  might  at  any  time  render  fatal.  In  the 
earlier  attacks  he  was  occasionally  inclined  to  defy  his 
doctors — and  paid  a  penalty  in  consequence.  But  early 
in  the  eighties  he  put  himself  under  the  care  of  Dr 
Morriston  Davies,  who  subsequently  became  an  intimate 
friend  and  was  able  to  put  a  salutary  check  upon  his 
imprudence. 

The  amount  of  physical  pain  that  fell  to  the  lot  of 
Brooke  during  the  last  thirty  or  forty  years  of  his  life 
was  a  severe  trial  of  his  patience  and  fortitude.  But, 
thanks  to  his  immense  physical  and  moral  vitality,  he 
showed  little  sign  of  suffering  either  in  his  person  or 
his  work.  Nothing  seemed  to  dim  his  radiance,  to  quench 
the  light  of  his  imagination,  or  to  break  his  will.  For 
example,  the  whole  of  his  work  on  the  Liher  Studiorum 
of  Turner  (1885),  than  which  the  literature  of  English  art 
criticism  has  nothing  finer  to  show,  was  written  during  a 
particularly  dangerous  attack  which  kept  him  a  prisoner 
to  his  couch  for  many  weary  months. 

When  Brooke  left  the  Church  a  score  of  seat-holders, 
as  I  have  said,  gave  up  their  pews  in  Bedford  Chapel. 
Their  places  were  immediately  taken  by  others,  and  the 
Chapel  was  crowded  to  the  doors.  The  congregation 
included  large  numbers  of  visitors  from  all  parts  of  the 
world.  The  forms  of  the  Book  of  Common  Prayer  were 
retained  with  the  omission  of  the  Creeds  and  those  parts 
of  the  Liturgy  which  involved,  directly  or  indirectly, 
the   doctrine   of    the   Miraculous  Incarnation.     A    new 


356  AFTER   SECESSION 

collection  of  hymns  was  also  made  by  Brooke,  most  of 
them  familiar  to  Christian  worshippers,  but  including 
not  a  few,  of  singular  beauty,  of  which  he  himself  was 
the  author.^ 

In  all  this  there  was  no  violent  breach  with  the  past. 
A  stranger  entering  Bedford  Chapel  in  the  eighties 
would  not  be  aware  of  much  difference  from  the  earlier 
period.  There  was  nothing  to  suggest  Nonconformity, 
either  in  the  character  of  the  services  or  the  person  of 
the  preacher.  No  attack  upon  the  Church  of  England 
was  heard,  and  when  once  the  necessary  explanations 
had  been  given,  no  further  reference  was  made  to  his 
secession,  nor  to  the  causes  which  had  led  up  to  it. 
Instead  of  talking  about  his  freedom  or  contrasting  it 
with  the  condition  of  those  who  were  less  free  than 
himself,  he  used  it  to  develop  his  positive  message  of  the 
Kingdom,  "  not  according  to  another  man's  idea  of  it, 
but  according  to  his  own  idea  of  it,"  dwelling  continually 
on  the  Fatherhood  of  God,  the  leadership  of  Christ,  and 
the  Immortality  of  the  Soul. 

These  were  his  constant  themes,  and  in  their  light 
he  read  the  lessons  of  science,  of  art,  of  history,  of 
social  progress,  in  all  of  which  he  found  a  continuous 
revelation  of  God  and  an  opportunity  for  realizing  the 
Christian  ideal.  His  method  was  positive,  direct,  con- 
structive, personal.  He  addressed  men  and  women  as 
individuals  and  not  as  mere  units  in  a  mass,  and  he 
possessed  a  natural  insight  into  the  human  heart  which 
enabled  him  to  interpret  his  hearers  to  themselves.  His 
message  never  seemed  a  burden  to  him  :  it  came  forth 
unlaboured,  a  spontaneous  utterance  sustained  with  joy, 
with  passion,  and  with  an  affluence  of  fine  and  fitting 

'  See  the  article  on  his  hymns  by  Dr  W,  Garrett  Horder  in  Julian's 
Dictionary  of  Hynmology. 


BROOKE   IN   THE   PULPIT  357 

words.  His  form  and  figure  in  the  pulpit  were  a 
vision  of  the  higher  possibilities  of  man.  To  look  at 
him  was  to  be  lifted  up,  kindled,  reassured.  He  had 
the  air  of  one  born  in  a  better  world  than  this,  and  a 
cloud  of  glory  from  his  birthplace  seemed  to  follow  him. 
Virtue  went  out  from  his  presence,  and  though  some 
were  left  cold  and  untouched,  there  were  always  many 
to  whom  the  sight  of  his  face  as  he  delivered  his  mes- 
sage or  administered  the  Holy  Communion  was  as  the 
breath  of  a  new  life.  His  published  sermons  stand  high 
in  the  literature  of  the  pulpit,  but  no  eloquence  of  the 
written  word  can  convey  the  power  of  enforcement  that 
lay  in  his  personality.  The  influence  struck  deep  while 
he  was  in  the  act  of  speaking,  and  when  the  sermon  was 
over  the  mind  would  linger  on  the  image  of  the  man, 
and  unconsciously  construct  a  greater  sermon  for  itself. 

At  Bedford  Chapel  there  were  none  of  the  **  insti- 
tutions "  commonly  connected  with  a  place  of  worship, 
and  the  work  Brooke  did  there  was  mainly  confined  to 
the  pulpit.  Large  numbers  of  his  regular  congregation 
were  unknown  to  him  personally ;  indeed,  they  came 
from  areas  so  scattered  and  distant  that  pastoral  visi- 
tation was  impossible ;  nor  did  Brooke  regard  that  kind 
of  activity  as  the  most  profitable  use  of  his  time.  Some 
of  his  hearers  were  his  personal  friends ;  they  frequented 
his  house  in  Manchester  Square,  and  were  constantly 
visited  by  him  when  they  were  in  sickness  or  trouble; 
and  there  were  large  numbers  of  others  whose  acquaint- 
ance he  would  make  when  they  sought  his  advice  in 
his  own  study,  as  many  of  them  did.  His  principal 
churchwarden  was  Mr  R.  A.  Potts,  the  chemist -of  Audley 
Street,  for  whom  Brooke  had  a  great  regard.  This 
gentleman,  a  gifted  bibliophile  and  collector  of  first 
editions,  whose  knowledge  and  judgment  were  constantly 


358  AFTER   SECESSION 

consulted  by  Brooke  in  the  extensive  purchases  he  was 
then  making,  was  one  of  a  small  group  of  Brooke's 
hearers  who  became  intimately  connected  with  his  family 
circle.  For  many  years  he  was  seldom  absent  from  the 
joyous  company  which  gathered  in  the  study  on  Sunday 
evenings,  when  Brooke,  with  the  day's  work  off  his  mind, 
and  a  box  of  cigars  at  his  elbow,  would  gather  about 
him  his  children,  his  brothers,  his  sisters,  and  friends, 
and  pass  the  swift  hours  in  delightful  and  excellent  talk, 
until  towards  midnight  he  would  suddenly  give  the 
order  that  everybody  was  to  go  to  bed,  and  the  company 
would  disperse  wearied  with  happiness.  How  well  at 
these  times  would  he  practise  his  doctrine  "that  the 
supreme  duty  of  life  is  to  make  other  people  happy  "  ! 
To  those  who  knew  him  superficially,  the  impassioned 
preacher  of  Bedford  Chapel  and  the  gay  companion,  the 
eager  political  talker,  the  brilliant  litterateur  of  Man- 
chester Square,  might  appear  two  very  different  men, 
but  to  those  who  were  privy  to  the  springs  of  his  life  the 
two  characters  were  one. 

In  the  early  eighties  Brooke  appeared  before  the 
public,  who  were  somewhat  taken  by  surprise,  as  an 
ardent  advocate  of  Total  Abstinence.  Throughout  his 
life  he  had  been  extremely  sparing  in  the  use  of  alcohol, 
and  he  was  fully  alive  to  its  physiological  dangers,  which 
he  had  learnt  from  his  friend  Sir  B.  W.  Richardson. 
Moreover,  he  had  no  need  of  artificial  stimulants  to  rouse ' 
his  vitality.  All  the  same  he  loved  a  glass  of  wine, 
provided  the  vintage  were  of  the  best,  and  it  must  have 
been  a  real  sacrifice  to  abandon  its  occasional  use,  and 
still  more  to  preclude  himself  from  providing  good  wine 
for  his  friends.  For  several  winters  there  were  weekly 
temperance  meetings  in  Bedford  Chapel,  forcible 
addresses    were    given    by  Brooke,   and    pledges   were 


THE   DEBATING   SOCIETY  359 

abundantly  gathered  from  the  audience.  But  in  '85 
he  was  again  stricken  down  by  the  malady  of  which  I 
have  spoken,  and  Sir  Andrew  Clarke,  having  regard  to 
his  general  habits,  advised  him  that  total  abstinence  was 
not  for  his  good.  Brooke  was  not  the  man  to  attempt 
a  compromise  between  his  social  doctrines  and  his 
doctor's  orders.  Accordingly  his  "  faculty  of  dismissing 
things  "  came  once  more  into  operation  :  his  blue  ribbon 
was  laid  aside,  and  from  that  time  onwards  no  more  was 
heard  of  the  matter. 

He  also  established  the  once  famous  Bedford  Chapel 
Debating  Society,  one  of  the  best  of  its  kind,  where  all 
the  great  questions  of  the  day  were  discussed  by  a  large 
group  of  talented  and  eager  minds.  Bernard  Shaw, 
just  then  rising  into  fame,  Sidney  Webb,  the  late  William 
Clark,  Sir  William  Collins,  Frank  Wright,  Michael  Davitt, 
Herbert  Burroughs,  Graham  Wallas,  John  Muirhead,  are 
names  which  will  arise  at  once  to  those  who  remember 
these  meetings.  The  speaking  was  exceptionally  good, 
and  although  there  was  always  a  tendency  to  merge  the 
discussion  into  the  general  problem  of  socialism,  the 
range  of  subjects  was  very  wide.  Mr  Charles  Wright, 
who  was  the  Secretary  of  the  Society,  has  furnished  me 
with  the  following  notes,  which,  though  they  refer  in 
part  to  Brooke's  preaching,  are  properly  inserted  in  this 
place : — 

"  My  recollection  of  Stopford  Brooke  goes  back  to  the 
seventies  and  to  the  old  chapel,  since  demolished,  in  York 
Street,  St  -James's.  It  is  difficult  to  estimate  what  his 
personality  and  teaching  meant  to  eager  young  men  to 
whom  the  evangelical  theology  of  the  day  had  become 
meaningless  or  repulsive.  No  doubt  the  perfect  literary 
form  of  his  discourses  was  an  important  element  in  their 
attractiveness,    whilst   the    noble    countenance    of    the 

VOL.   II.  B 


360  AFTER   SECESSION 

speaker  itself  "  Drew  audience  and  attention  still  as 
night,"  but  the  main  thing  was  the  earnest  and  effective 
presentation  of  Christianity  as  a  living  force  in  the  life 
of  to-day.  The  sermons  were  read  from  manuscript, 
which  always  seems  a  very  serious  defect  in  preaching, 
but  Mr  Brooke  read  with  such  extraordinary  freedom  and 
power  that  it  never  seemed  a  defect  in  him.  And  to 
some  who  were  suspicious  of  rhetoric  the  evidence  of 
careful  preparation  was  by  no  means  ungrateful,  and 
yet  the  listener  was  deeply  impressed  by  the  power  of 
the  spoken  word,  and  the  inspiration  of  a  sympathetic 
personality. 

"  The  mind  lingers  with  affection  over  the  memories 
linked  with  the  old  chapel,  but  it  was  at  Bedford  Chapel 
and  still  more  at  the  Debating  Society  that  his  per- 
sonality seemed  to  unfold.  I  do  not  remember  any  trace 
of  humour  in  his  sermons,  but  one  of  our  members  once 
said  that  the  Debating  Society  was  his  real  Church,  and 
there  undoubtedly  his  mind  seemed  to  have  freer  play. 
Those  were  the  days  of  early  Socialism  when  a  new 
heaven  and  a  new  earth  were  expected  next  week,  the 
protagonists  in  deadly  earnest  taking  gloomy  views  of 
each  other's  character.  The  President's  summing  up 
was  always  a  model  of  good  temper,  discerning  the  best 
in  each  speaker,  ignoring  stupidities,  making  violence 
absurd  by  his  delicate  humour. 

"  In  literary  subjects  he  was  supreme,  and  although 
there  were  sometimes  present  men  whose  fame  will  pro- 
bably outlast  his,  there  never  seemed  to  be  any  question 
as  to  his  leadership.  I  doubt  whether  any  of  those  who 
came  in  contact  with  him  are  not  richer  in  mind  and 
spirit  by  reason  of  his  influence." 

He  was  also  deeply  interested  at  this  time,  and  indeed 
to  the  end  of  his  life,  in  the  movement  for  providing 
country  holidays  for  the  slum  children  of  London,  a 
movement  which  his  eldest  daughter,  Miss  Honor 
Brooke,  had  been  among  the  first  to  set  on  foot.  His 
annual  sermon   on   behalf  of  this  cause  gave  him  an 


EARLY  ENGLISH   LITERATURE  861 

opportunity  for  the  description  of  nature  in  which  he 
excelled,  and  the  pictures  he  \YOuld  draw  of  the  poor 
children  surprised  and  enraptured  in  the  green  fields, 
or  gazing  open-eyed  at  the  wonderful  ways  of  birds  and 
beasts,  would  show  him  at  the  summit  of  his  poetic  power. 
The  Domestic  Missions  established  by  the  Unitarians  in 
the  London  slums  also  appealed  to  him  strongly;  he 
would  plead  for  them  in  the  pulpit  and  on  the  platform. 
His  literary  activity  during  this  period  was  great. 
All  through  the  eighties  he  was  engaged  in  the  prepara- 
tion of  his  "  History  of  Early  English  Literature  "  which 
appeared  in  two  volumes  in  1892.  This  book,  he  says 
in  the  Preface,  is  "  the  history  of  the  beginnings  of 
EngHsh  Poetry,"  carried  down  to  the  accession  of  Alfred 
in  871.  It  was  intended  by  Brooke  as  the  first  instal- 
ment of  a  complete  history  of  English  poetry  to  modern 
times — a  design  which,  in  consequence  of  the  frequent 
interruptions  to  his  health,  was  never  completed,  though 
it  was  partly  carried  out  in  his  volumes  on  Shakespeare 
and  on  the  modern  poets.  To  qualify  himself  for  the 
first  part  of  his  task  he  had  to  learn  Anglo- Saxon,  and 
this  he  did  with  ease  and  rapidity.  An  immense  range 
of  study  had  to  be  mastered,  which  Brooke  accomplished 
with  great  thoroughness,  though  with  some  irritation  at 
the  mere  footnote  character  of  much  that  had  been  pre- 
viously written  on  the  subject.  But  the  value  of  the 
book  does  not  lie  in  the  learning  which  it  amasses  or 
displays.  It  lies  in  the  imaginative  power  which,  pene- 
trating the  secret  of  all  this  dim  and  distant  literature — 
"  Beowulf,"  Caedmon,  Cynewulf — raises  these  names, 
quick  with  a  life  of  their  own,  from  the  tomb  in  which 
Dryasdust  had  so  long  sealed  them  up.  From  the  foot- 
note scholars  the  book  received  a  chill  and  guarded 
welcome,  and  there  were  some  of  them  who  would  have 


362  AFTER  SECESSION 

treated  Brooke  as  a  poacher.  They  charged  him  with 
indifference  to  the  commentators — a  charge  happily  not 
altogether  untrue — and  they  pounced  upon  minor  errors 
in  the  translations,  which  were  free,  imaginative,  and 
sometimes  daring.  Ther&was  not  enough  deference  to 
the  accredited  authorities,  and  since  this  kind  of  lese- 
majeste  is  slow  to  be  forgiven,  full  justice  has  not  yet 
been  done  to  the  merits  of  the  work.  As  on  the  occasion 
of  his  leaving  the  Church,  so  in  this  instance  the  chief 
effect  was  produced  on  the  lay  mind,  on  those,  that  is, 
who  had  no  professional  axes  to  grind,  but  were  capable 
of  being  awakened  to  a  new  and  living  interest  in  the 
springs  of  English  poetry. 

Nearly  the  whole  of  this  book  was  written  in  a  dark 
and  dingy  room  at  the  back  of  Bedford  Chapel,  which  he 
had  fitted  up  as  a  study,  that  he  might  have  immunity 
from  the  constant  attentions  of  his  friends.  In  this  sun- 
less den,  where  in  winter  the  gas  had  to  be  lit  at  midday, 
sat  Brooke,  the  lover  of  sunshine,  surrounded  by  roses 
and  azaleas,  the  roar  of  Oxford  Street  incessantly  in  his 
ears,  the  air  pervaded  with  the  mingled  odours  of  flowers, 
of  tobacco,  and  of  a  London  vestry ;  a  pile  of  volumes  at 
his  side,  a  pipe  in  his  mouth,  and  a  few  photographs  of  the 
people  he  loved  on  the  table  before  him.  But  he  himself 
was  elsewhere,  travelling  on  the  wings  of  his  imagination 
in  the  morning  of  the  world.  Often,  I  confess,  have  I 
interrupted  him  while  he  was  thus  engaged,  as  did  many 
others  with  a  greater  claim.  In  an  instant  he  would 
come  back,  his  face  radiant  with  the  joy  which  he 
always  showed  at  the  appearance  of  his  friends;  there 
would  be  an  hour  of  pleasant  talk,  unless  the  conscience 
of  his  visitor  were  too  sensitive ;  and  the  end  would  be 
"  Now  then,  get  away  with  you,  and  let  me  finish  what  I 
am  doing." 


"RIQUET   OF   THE    TUFT"  363 

He  composed  verse  freely  at  this  time.  lu  the  year 
of  his  secession  he  pubUshed  his  lyrical  drama — "  Riquet 
of  the  Tuft,"  ^  of  which  he  wrote  as  follows  to  Mr.  Bryce, 
commenting  on  the  conjunction  of  the  two  events : — 

To  James  Bryce. 

' '  Naworth.     August  31,  '80. 

"...  I  have  asked  them  to  send  you  '  Riquet.'  .  .  . 
As  to  myself,  things  of  more  importance  have  put  it  out 
of  my  head,  and  I  feel  almost  unconcerned  about  its 
fate.  I  told  Macmillan  that  he  might  let  the  authorship 
slip  into  the  Academy  and  Athenaeum.  He  seemed  so 
very  anxious  to  do  so,  and  I  didn't  care.  It  is  odd — so 
odd  is  life — that  a  Love  Drama  and  leaving  the  Church 
should  come  together.  I  am  glad  you  like  my  letter  ;  ^ 
and  some  of  your  suggestions  I  have  partly  adopted.  I 
rather  hesitate  about  doctrinally  italicizing  in  short  sen- 
tences my  view  of  Christ's  person  and  revelation,  not 
that  I  have  any  hesitation  as  to  my  view,  which  is  quite 
clear  and  defined,  but  that  short  statements  on  so 
infinitely  ramified  a  subject  are  so  liable  to  mistake  and 
attack,  and  the  statements  cannot  be  long. 

"  When  I  have  written  and  published  a  few  short 
sermons,  which  I  hope  to  do  before  the  end  of  the  year, 
my  position  will  not  be  mistaken,  and  I  can  afford  to  be 
mistaken  for  a  few  months.  The  action  itself  and  the 
reason  why  will  cause  plenty  of  attack,  if  men  trouble 
themselves  about  it,  and  then  by  and  by,  they  will  find 
out  that  I  am  not  as  black  as  they  painted  me,  and  there 
will  be  a  reaction.  Anyway,  I  can  wait— it  is  the  only 
thing  I  do  really  well — and  go  on  quietly  saying  what  I 
mean.  It  will  tell  in  the  end,  if  it  is  worth  anything. 
If  it  isn't,  why — down  it  goes  into  the  abyss. 

•  D.  G.  Rossetti  said  of  the  "  Marriage  Song"  in  "  Riquet,"  "  It  is 
one  of  the  most  beautiful  lyrics  I  havo  read.  Every  night  I  repeat  it 
to  myself."    I  have  this  on  good  authority. 

-  To  his  congregation  explaining  his  secession. 


364  AFTER  SECESSION 

"  I  leave  this  house  very  soon  and  shall  probably  join 
the  children  in  Ireland.  If  so,  I  shall  go  by  Belfast  and 
down  by  the  west  coast  to  Killarney." 

In  1888  he  published  his  volume  of  "  Poems."  In 
these,  as  in  "  Eiquet,"  the  influences  at  work  are  plainly 
evident :  we  see  his  debt  to  Shakespeare,  Shelley,  Words- 
worth, and  Keats.  "  Riquet  of  the  Tuft  "  was  pronounced 
by  the  critic  of  the  Examiner  to  be  "  a  gem  of  the  purest 
water."  The  **  Poems  "  are  pitched  in  many  keys  and 
range  over  a  great  variety  of  themes,  but  all  are  alive 
with  his  passionate  humanity  and  love  of  nature ;  many 
spring  from  the  romantic  side  of  his  temperament, 
or  show  his  affinity  with  the  Early  Renaissance ;  some, 
which  are  probably  the  best  of  all,  reveal  him  as  the 
sympathizer  with  the  sufferings  of  the  poor,  and  espe- 
cially as  the  champion  of  poor  women.  The  chief  of 
these  last  are  "  The  Sempstress "  and  the  "  Crofter's 
Wife." 

Of  all  the  critics  of  his  poetry  there  was  none  whose 
opinion  Brooke  valued  more  highly  than  that  of  his 
youngest  brother,  the  Rev.  Arthur  Brooke.^  On  the 
appearance  of  the  volume  of "  Poems  "  Mr  Arthur  Brooke 
..  wrote  a  long  and  discriminating  criticism  of  the  kind 
'"  which  the  elder  brother  loved.  The  following  is  the 
latter's  reply : — 

To  Rev.  Arthur  Brooke. 

"  Shere,  Surrey.     July  30,  '88. 

"...  You  are  the  only  person  who  has  taken  the 
trouble  to  think  at  all  about  those  lyrics  which  deal  with 
recondite  phases   of  human  love,   the   only   person,   it 

V. 
1  Mr  Arthur  Brooke  is  himself  a  poet.     In  1913  he  published  a 
volume  of  "  Occasional  Verses  "  among  which  are  many  lyrics  of  great 
beauty. 


HIS   POEMS  365 

seems  to  me,  who  has  seen  that  they  are  worth  anything 
— as  it  seems  to  me  they  are — not  much  worth  indeed, 
but  still  having  a  certain  quality.  For  instance,  in  that 
httle  poem  of  *  Venice,'  the  two  lines — 

"  '  0  why  is  it  in  water  and  air, 
And  nevermore  in  me  ? ' 

really  describe  a  phase  which  is  curious  and  true,  when 
a  man  feels  that  the  passion  which  filled  his  life  is 
entirely  gone  from  himself,  but  yet  feels  it  moving 
through  memory  in  Nature.  In  times  past,  Nature  and 
he  were  together  filled  with  it.  Now  he  has  lost  it,  yet 
Nature  keeps  it  still,  and  he  regrets  he  can  have  it  no 
more. 

"  You  say  I  am  saturated  with  fatalism.  Of  that  I  was 
not  aware.  I'm  not  a  bit  of  a  fatalist.  But  I  dare  say 
it  is  there.  It  is  one  of  the  phases  which  belong  to  life. 
I  remember  writing  the  '  Vapour  of  Fate  '  in  such  a 
phase,  as  I  stood  here — at  Hurstcote — and  saw  the 
mist  rise  out  of  the  valley  and  encroach  on  all  the 
world.  But  not  all  the  Poems  have  that.  However, 
love  is  always  fatalistic,  and  these  Poems  are  all  about 
love. 

"  The  next  book  of  Poems  I  write  will  have  httle  or 
nothing  about  that  passion.  I  think  you  are  quite  right 
in  saying  that  I  ought  to  lighten  the  gloom  and  show  the 
nobler  strength.  But  you  see  I  am  always  doing  that 
in  the  pulpit,  every  week  of  my  life.  Fight  on,  fight 
on,  fortitude,  hoped  victory,  the  certainty  of  it,  the  glory 
of  the  war — these  I  preach  incessantly,  and  the  tempta- 
tion to  write  the  other  side,  or  rather  the  strong  impulse 
to  write  the  other  side,  to  speak  of  other  phases,  not  to 
preach,  was  strong  on  me. 

"  However,  if  I  write  any  more,  it  shall  be  about 
other  phases  altogether  of  human  life. 

"As  to  the  Vengeance  Poems,  they  came.  Once  in 
my  life  at  least — nay  twice  or  three  times — I  have  felt 
that,  so  I  wrote  it,  but  I've  got  rid  of  it.  Then  a  number 
of  Poems  which  seem  this  or  that  were  the  most 
momentary  of  emotions,  and  jotted  down  as  I  walked  the 


366  AFTER  SECESSION 

streets.  They  have  all  gone  by  now.  Positively  I  seem 
to  have  forgotten  the  whole  book.  I  am  longing  to  write 
another,  and  a  quite  different  one.  All  those,  with  the 
exception  of  two,  were  written  in  the  last  three  years. 
Well,  I  hope  the  book  will  endure  for  a  little  and  give 
some  pleasure." 

The  two  letters  which  follow,  from  Professor  Edward 
Dowden,  and  Mr  Gladstone,  refer  to  his  literary  work  at 
this  time. 

From  Professor  Edward  Dowden. 

"  Winstead,  Temple  Road,  Rathmines, 

"Dublin. 
"Oct.  19,  1880. 

"  Deae  Mr  Brooke, — It  is  not  long  since  I  have  seen 
Riquet  and  Callista  entering  the  Fairy  Hall,  for  I  have 
been  pestered  with  my  college  work,  and  did  not  choose 
to  read  your  drama  in  broken  scraps  of  time.  I  have  not 
the  knack  of  gauging  with  elegant  infallibility  the  length 
and  breadth  of  each  new  spiritual  product  brought  into 
the  world ;  but  at  least  I  know  that  I  have  had  more 
enjoyment  from  Eiquet  than  from  any  volume  of  recent 
poetry  that  I  have  read  for  a  good  long  time.  And  if 
you  were  not  doing  more  valuable  work  I  suspect  you 
could  do  good  service  by  enriching  the  English  stage 
with  that  kind  of  short  poetical  drama,  which  is  one  of 
the  special  charms  of  the  French  theatre,  and  which  is 
delightful  to  read,  apart  from  its  theatrical  surroundings, 
as  a  poem.  I  think  you  have  been  remarkably  successful 
in  preserving  a  harmony  of  love  throughout.  Had  your 
gardener,^  for  instance,  said  clever  rusticities  we  should 
have  got  out  of  fairyland.  And  the  problem  you  solved, 
how  to  make  a  fairy  tale  a  passionate  human  tale,  and 
to  find  a  tone  and  manner  that  would  harmonize  the 
fantastic  and  the  reality  of  passion  was  a  puzzling  one — 
puzzling  at  least  to  solve  intellectually,  though  perhaps 
not  so  when  the  imagination  took  it  in  hand. 

"  I  hope  your  church  is  filled,  and  that  those  who 

'  A  character  in  the  play. 


LETTER  FROM  GLADSTONE  367 

adhere  to  you,  adhere  strenuously.  That  you  took  the 
right  course  I  have  not  the  sHghtest  doubt,  though  to  be 
disingenuous  in  conduct  may  be  an  *  anachronism.'  I 
Uked  the  plainness  of  speech,  and  the  good  feeling  of 
your  letter  much. 

"  When  you  were  here  I  forgot  to  mention,  what  you 
have  probably  noticed  yourself,  an  unhappy  misprint  in 
the  '  Ode  to  the  West  Wind  '  (p.  319  of  your  '  Selections  '). 
Sweet  thought  in  sadness. 

"  With  many  thanks  for  Riquet,  I  am,  sincerely 
yours, 

*'  Edward  Dowden. 

"I  suppose  you  are  still  addressed  as  *  The  Rev.,'  or 
is  this  an  '  anachronism  '  ?  " 


From  Ml-  Gladstone. 

"  Ha  warden  Castle,  Chester, 
"  May  20,  '97. 

"  My  dear  Sir, — I  have  to  thank  you  for  kindly 
presenting  to  me  the  volumes  on  English  Literature  into 
which  you  have  compressed  so  much  of  useful  informa- 
tion and  of  sound  criticism. 

"I  do  not  wonder  at  your  calling  attention  to  the 
tautology  and  iteration  which  mark  the  *  Dearly  Be- 
loved.' It  seems  to  be  in  contrast  with  the  general 
terseness  of  the  prayers  of  the  Church.  For  that  and 
other  reasons  I  sometimes  ask  myself  whether  it  has  not 
been  deliberately  employed,  and  whether  its  aim  is  not 
to  rally  scattered  thoughts  and  minds  feebly  interested. 

"  I  am  afraid  there  are  important  questions  on  which 
we  might  not  agree ;  but  I  remember  with  pleasure  an 
intense  sympathy  with  which  I  once  heard  you  preach  at 
Westminster  Abbey  (what  I  called)  a  sermon  against 
respectability. — I  remain,  my  dear  Sir,  yours  very 
faithfully, 

"  W.  Gladstone." 

In  the  early  eighties  he  held  the  position  of  Principal 
of  the    Men  and  Women's  College  in  Queen's  Square, 


368  AFTER   SECESSION 

which  involved  him  in  a  good  deal  of  work  in  addition  to 
weekly  lectures  on  English  literature.  Some  difficulty 
arose  from  the  fact  that  the  lecture  hall  was  apt  to  be 
crowded  by  admirers  of  Brooke,  who  had  no  connection 
with  the  College ;  and  when  social  functions  were  held 
these  would  surround  him,  so  that  the  working  men  and 
women  seldom  got  a  chance  of  conversing  with  him.  I 
have  heard  that  one  consequence  of  the  presence  of  so 
large  a  number  of  educated  persons  was  that  he  got 
into  the  habit  of  pitching  his  lectures  above  the  heads  of 
the  audience  for  which  they  were  originally  intended. 
There  were  other  difficulties,  and  in  1884  he  resigned 
his  office.  The  College  had  many  faithful  workers  who 
loyally  supported  him,  of  whom  the  chief  was  Miss 
Guest,  his  friend  and  the  friend  of  his  children.  With 
her  he  maintained  a  constant  correspondence  till  the 
time  of  his  death.  One  of  her  remarks  concerning  him, 
made  to  myself,  deserves  to  be  recorded.  "  After  hearing 
him  I  always  felt  that  I  was  able  to  make  a  new  start  in 
life.  I  could  live  the  thing  he  taught  me,  and  what  better 
proof  could  I  have  that  it  was  true  ?  " 

Letters. 
To  Ids  daughter  Honor. 

"  London. 
"  Good  Friday,  1880. 

"  Yes,  you  will  soon  be  back  now,  and  that  will  be  a 
good  thing  for  you  and  me  and  every  one.  Perhaps  you 
will  be  able  to  take  '  Riquet '  in  your  hands  and  kiss  him 
too,  like  Callista.  He  is  half  born,  but  the  other  half 
wants  a  little  more  shaping,  so  I  have  put  him  back  into 
my  brain.  A  few  weeks  more  and  out  he  will  rush,  like 
Athena  out  of  Zeus'  skull,  and  amaze  the  world  with 
wisdom.  He  is  on  his  way,  be  sure.  And  certainly  you 
will   see    Shelley   selected   and  a   Preface  written,  and 


THE   COERCION   BILL  369 

Notes,  and  that  book  you  shall  have  by  the  time  you 
arrive.  He  is  done,  all  in  the  printer's  hands,  ready  and 
rejoiced  to  go  to  be  pressed  and  bound  and  then  launched 
upon  mankind,  and  I  wish  him  good  luck,  and  me  good 
luck  with  him  and  plenty  of  money  to  buy  pictures  out 
of  him.  I  get  £120  for  him  now,  and  I  shall  send 
another  £100  to  Costa.^  Poor  Costa  is  ill  I  hear,  so  he 
will  like  his  £100  at  once,  and  I  will  deny  myself  the  joy 
of  spending  it— dear,  good  boy  that  I  am." 


To  James  Bryce. 


Shere,  Surrey. 

•'  March,  1880, 


"  Only  this  moment  got  your  news.^  From  papers 
yesterday  I  expected  it ;  but  to  know  there  is  no  doubt 
is  great  delight  to  me.  I  can't  say  how  much  I  wished 
this  nor  how  glad  I  am.  For  your  sake — for  the  sake  of 
the  Cause — for  the  sake  of  Parliament.  Now  you  are  in 
you  will  make  your  mark  on  our  time — thank  goodness. 
It  has  been  a  hard  battle,  well  and  righteously  fought, 
fought  with  courage,  endurance,  against  great  difficulties, 
and  won  in  the  way  that  is  full  of  satisfaction — by 
plenty  to  spare.  I  like  the  whole  of  the  story.  You  see 
— but  I  need  not  say  that,  for  you  agree  with  me — that 
what  really  tells  in  England,  in  the  long  run — is  emo- 
tional enthusiasm  for  ideas,  at  the  back  of  knowledge." 

To  James  Bryce. 

"London.     1881. 

"  I  could  not  dine  at  the  Athenseum  to-day,  but  any 
day  next  week  I  will.  I  sent  you  a  postcard  last  night 
to  ask  you  a  question.  I  wonder  if  you  think  with  all 
the  rest  apparently  of  the  world  that  the  H.  of  C.  and 
especially  the  Liberal  Government  exhibit  to  the  world 
a  noblo  example,  and  the  H.  Rulers  a  disgraceful  one  ? 
I  at  least  take  exactly  the  opposite  view.  The  Coercion 
Bill   is  a  disgrace  to  the  Government,  and  its  almost 

'  Giovanni  Costa,  the  painter  of  Italian  landscape. 
"^  Mr  Bryce  had  just  been  elected  for  Tower  Hamlets. 


370  AFTER   SECESSION 

unique  provisions  make  its  guilt.  The  Irish  members 
were  justified  in  resisting  it  by  every  means  that  could 
be  invented  within  the  Law.  They  have  done  so,  and  a 
new  Statute  has  to  be  made  by  which  all  but  half  the 
members  for  Ireland,  and  these  the  representatives  of 
most  of  the  Catholic  opinion,  and  of  the  farmer  and 
peasant  class,  of  Ireland  are  turned  out  of  the  House  in 
order  to  get  a  bill  through  which  practically  puts  all 
whom  they  represent  outside  the  pale  of  the  Constitution. 
I  allow  that  the  boredom  of  the  Obstructionists  was  in- 
tolerable. But  the  Bill  is  still  more  intolerable,  and  so 
will  Ireland  feel  it.  I  allow  that  some  Coercion  was 
necessary,  but  not  till  justice  had  been  done,  or  promised 
to  be  done,  by  stating  at  least  the  clauses  of  the  Land 
Bill.  Then — if  the  Government  of  England  had  done 
its  best  for  justice — then,  if  outrage,  etc.,  went  on,  would 
be  the  time  to  coerce.  Now  the  only  result  of  this  Bill, 
brought  in  when  it  has  been,  carried  through  as  it  will 
be,  will  be  to  deepen  rebellion  in  Ireland,  to  deepen 
hatred  and  jealousy  and  the  scorn  which  the  weak  feel 
towards  the  strong  who  oppress  them,  to  divide  still 
more  bitterly  class  from  class,  and  to  put  off  all  modera- 
tion, all  wisdom  in  the  Land  Question  for  I  know  not 
how  long. 

"  The  main  struggle  of  the  Irish,  under  the  Land 
League,  is  a  struggle  against  bad  and  unjust  laws  for 
justice.  To  be  content  with,  to  abide  those  laws,  as  the 
English  peasant  is,  is  disgraceful  to  a  people.  The  laws 
are  worse  in  operation  in  Ireland  than  in  England. 
They  have  been  the  cause  of  famines,  of  plagues,  of 
depopulation,  of  misery  unspeakable.  The  first  thing  a 
Government  ought  to  have  done  would  be  to  say — I  don't 
wonder  at  these  outrages,  I  don't  wonder  at  the  mean- 
ness of  the  Land  League,  I  deplore  the  outrages,  but 
they  are  natural  enough  among  a  wild  people — they 
must  be  stopped,  and  I  appeal  to  the  Irish  people  to  stop 
them.  And  I  make  this  apjpeal  because  I  am  convinced 
the  laws  they  live  under  are  unjust  and  I  am  going  to 
make  them  as  just  as  I  can.  Here  are  my  propositions 
for  a  Land  Law.     This  is  all  I  can  hope  to  get  through 


HIS  APPRECIATION   OF   J.  R.  GREEN    371 

yet.  It  will  help  you  against  wrong  and  give  you  a 
chance  of  life.  Try  it,  and  let  me  have  no  more  outrages. 
If,  having  done  all  I  can,  outrages  continue,  then  I 
must  use  coercion.  This  would  be  right,  but  the  present 
action  of  the  Government  is,  in  my  mind,  the  real 
outrage.  And  out  of  it  will  arise  new  rebellions,  new 
miseries,  new  hatreds,  new  oppressions  for  the  Irish 
people.  And  I  have  lived  to  see  Gladstone  do  this  ! 
And  English  and  Scotch  Liberals  cheering  and  hooting 
with  Conservatives  and  Tories.  All  the  House  of 
Commons  hand  and  glove  together  to  take  away  from 
Ireland  the  rights  of  a  free  people,  because  they  have 
risen  against  injustice.  It  is  a  sin  against  light,  to  use 
the  old  Calvinist  phrase.  Just  think  what  History  will 
say  of  it !  " 

To  J.  R.  Green  (who  was  noiv  in  his  last  illness). 

"  London. 

"  Feb.  12,  '82. 

"  I  ought  to  have  written  to  you  before,  but  I  have 
been  laid  up  for  ten  weeks,  very  shortly  after  my  return 
from  Italy,  and  I  have  had  no  heart  to  write  to  anybody. 
I  was  so  provoked  at  being  laid  by,  when  I  was  appa- 
rently so  well,  that  I  did  little  but  read.  And  it  has 
lasted  so  long  and  become  so  wearisome.  Even  now  you 
see  I  am  obliged  to  write  in  pencil.  I  have  just  got  out 
of  the  wood,  but  I  do  not  know  whether  I  may  not  be 
thrown  back  into  it.  But  I  cannot  refrain  from  writing 
to  thank  you  for  one  of  the  greatest  literary  pleasures 
I  have  ever  had  in  my  life.  I  think  your  book^  en- 
chanting. I  have  no  special  fondness  for  history  any 
more  than  you  have  now  for  poetry,  yet  with  maps, 
and  with  unbroken  eagerness  and  delight  I  have  gone 
through  your  book.  Of  course  I  cannot  criticize  the 
history,  but  I  can  scarcely  say  too  much  of  the  form, 
and  of  the  grouping,  or  of  the  imagination  which  has 
wrought  the  wliole  together  into  unity.  And  the  style 
is  more  than  attractive :  it  is  weighty,  more  than  brilliant, 
it  is  tempered  by  enough  restraint  to  make  one  wish  the 

»  "  The  Making  of  England." 


372  AFTER   SECESSION 

artist  had  sometimes  put  in  more  colour :  and  yet  one 
knows  that  the  artist  is  right  and  that  our  wish  is  wrong. 
Indeed  the  truth  is,  if  I  may  borrow  an  illustration  from 
painting,  that  the  book  is  wrought  in  colour,  and  not  in 
white  and  black,  and  that  the  shadows  are  all  in  colour 
and  the  light  also.  It  is  passion  and  genius  that  has 
done  this ;  and  I  do  not  think  that  while  the  language 
lives  or  England  is  loved  by  men,  that  this  book  of  yours 
will  ever  die.     It  will  always  be  loved  by  Englishmen. 

"  Of  course  a  great  deal  of  the  beginning  must  be 
conjecture,  but  I  think  that  you  have  proved  your  case ; 
and  at  any  rate,  the  main  movements  have  been  cleared. 
Moreover  you  have  established  the  lines  on  which  others 
must  work,  and  you  have  made  a  new  method  intelligible 
and  capable  of  being  used.  It  is  a  great  thing  to  do. 
As  to  your  usage  of  materials,  and  your  way  of  bringing 
together  from  every  quarter  of  learning  everything  that 
can  bear  upon  your  subject,  strengthen  your  argument 
and  illuminate  the  dim  places — it  is  as  admirable  as 
Gibbon,  and  is  not  troubled  by  his  monotonous  style. 
Then  there  is  the  whole  picture !  I  will  not  speak  too 
much  of  it.  But  it  is  a  splendid  piece  of  that  high 
imagination  which  creates  truth;  and  makes  the  Past 
live  again.  I  suppose  there  will  be  critics  who  will  find 
out  all  possible  errors,  but  do  not  mind  them.  No  errors 
— if  there  are  such,  and  I  have  seen  no  criticism  but 
that  in  the  Times — can  touch  the  real  value  of  the  book. 
It  will  abide  with  us  all  for  ever. 

"  I  do  not  hear  tidings  of  you  which  satisfy  all  I 
should  wish.  I  hear  that  you  have  not  got  much 
stronger.  But  all  progress  after  so  severe  an  attack 
must  be  slow,  and  you  have  so  much  power  of  resist- 
ance. So  I  have  great  hope  that  those  beloved  shores 
and  sun  [of  Italy]  will  soon  bring  all  their  healing  to 
you.  How  much  I  wish  it  to  you,  I  need  not  say.  Do 
not  mind  writing,  for  I  am  sure  it  will  be  a  trouble.  But 
I  could  not  help  writing,  and  it  may  not  bore  you  to  read 
my  letter. —  Give  my  love  to  Alice,^  and  believe  me,  affec- 
tionately yours,  "  S.  A.  Brooke." 

'  Brooke's  cousin,  Mrs  J.  P.  Green,  nie  Alice  Stopford, 


CAEDMON  373 

To  J.  R.  Green. 

"  Nov.  16,  '82. 

**  I  am  just  home  a  fortnight  ago.  And  a  violent 
cold  awaited  me  on  the  threshold  of  the  house,  and 
brought  me  very  low.  I  am  all  well  now,  and  employ 
one  of  my  first  gay  hours  in  answering  your  pleasant 
letter.  I  was  sorry  not  to  see  you  ere  you  went,  but  as 
glad  to  hear  that  you  got  out  so  well.  You  may  be 
rejoiced  to  be  out  of  this  aere  hnino  which  Dante  only 
saw  in  Hell;  though,  after  all,  sunshine  now  and  then 
strays  into  my  room,  then  dies  exhausted  with  the  effort. 
I  wish  I  were  in  Italy.  I  am  beginning  to  hate  London. 
I  see  nobody,  but  were  I  to  see  more  folk,  I  should  hate 
London  still  more.  I  have,  or  seem  to  have,  a  need  of 
quiet  solitude,  and  at  least  the  ten  days  I  had  of  it  at 
Axenfels  at  the  head  of  the  bay  of  Uri  were  enchanting 
to  me.  It  is  true  I  worked  hard  and  the  time  fled.  I 
was  shut  up  by  the  floods  in  Italy.  But  I  saw  Bergamo 
well,  and  most  beautiful  it  is.  And  I  saw  Brescia,  or 
rather  Brescia  saw  me,  for  the  darkness  and  storm  and 
rain  were  so  violent  that  I  could  see  nothing.  I  managed 
to  see  one  picture  by  wax  candles  in  the  middle  of  the 
day.  .  .  . 

"  You  ask  about  the  English  Verse.  Well  '  Caedmon,' 
that  is  the  Genesis,  and  the  Exodus,  are  thrown  into 
book  form ;  and  I  have  v/ritten  enough,  I  think,  of  the 
critical  matter  as  well  with  regard  to  authorship,  etc. 
I  think  you  will  be  surprised  by  these  poems.  I  know 
I  am.  Nor  do  I  think  it  possible  they  could  be  written 
by  the  same  man,  unless  six  or  seven  years  of  writing 
had  developt  Caedmon  into  almost  another  artist.  Then 
I  have  gone  carefully  line  by  line  through  all  Cynewulf 'a 
work,  and  there  is  a  great  deal  to  say  about  it.  It  differs 
as  much  from  the  earlier  work  such  as  Caedmon's  as 
artistic  poetry  differs  from  poetry  in  the  rough.  Cyne- 
wulf cared  for  form,  Caedmon  not.  It  is  so  interesting 
— so  poetical  often,  so  strangely  modern  too  in  its  note, 
that  I  am  not  satisfied  with  blundering  through  with  a 
translation.  So  I  have  begun  to  learn  Anglo-Saxon,  and 
so  far  as  prose  goes  find  it  easy  enough.     Where  it  isn't 


374  AFTER   SECESSION 

English,  it  is  German — at  least  nearly  all  the  words 
have  their  High  German  equivalents.  I  should  think 
that  in  six  months  I  shall  know  it  fairly  well;  and  I 
give  a  year  to  my  book.  It  interests  me  beyond  all  I 
can  say,  and  I  hope  I  shall  make  it  interesting." 


To  J.  R.  Green. 


London. 

"  Feb.  7,  '83. 


"  The  better  news  I  hear  of  you  to-day,  which  re- 
joiced my  heart,  encourages  me  to  hope  that  I  may 
write  to  you  direct  and  not  to  Alice ;  and  so,  on  chance 
I  send  this  to  you.  I  need  not  say  all  I  felt  when  I 
heard  of  your  severe  attack :  it  was  all  I  should  be  sure 
to  feel  when  an  old  friend  was  in  such  trouble,  for  I 
never  forget  the  ancient  days.  But  I  will  not  talk  of 
your  trouble,  rejoiced  as  I  am  to  hear  that  it  is  past. 
I  was  so  glad  to  hear  that  the  book  was  all  in  type :  I 
saw  it,  but  though  I  longed  to  read  it,  did  not  dare  to 
demand  it.  What  a  splendid  thing  it  is  for  you  to  have 
done  in  the  midst  of  so  much  weakness  and  distress  !  I 
think  it  is  the  most  courageous  and  the  most  triumphant 
thing  I  ever  heard  of,  and  it  shames  us  all,  whom  so 
little  illness  renders  lazy  or  indifferent.  No  one  who 
has  ever  known  you  (and  thousands  in  the  next  genera- 
tion who  will  not  have  known  you)  will  ever  forget  the 
moral  impression  that  effort  makes,  and  I  say  this  as  I 
should  say  it  of  any  one  who  was  not  a  friend  of  mine. 

"  We  are  all  fairly  well  here.  I  have  been  ill  and  well 
week  by  week  in  this  foul  climate.  How  I  abhor  London  ! 
More  and  more  and  more  I  long  for  the  time  when  I  shall 
shake  off  the  dust  of  my  feefc  against  it,  and  retire  to 
some  sunny  place  where  I  can  write  half  the  day  and 
spend  the  rest  in  tilling  the  ground  from  whence  I  was 
taken.  The  children  shoot  higher  and  higher  every  day. 
I  am  overwhelmed  by  them,  but  I  am  much  fonder  of 
them  all  than  I  used  to  be,  and  live  a  good  deal  with 
them. 

"  I  have  missed  you  incessantly  all  through  this  work  : 
for  I  wanted  again  and  again  to  consult  you.     I  think 


LAST  ILLNESS   OF   J.   K   GREEN         375 

the  end  of  the  Caedmon  MS,  the  *  Crist  and  Satan,'  the 
'  Riming  Poem,'  the  '  Salomo  and  Saturn,'  are  all  of 
the  time  of  Alfred  or  of  his  near  successors,  as  well  as  the 
Translation  of  the  Psalms  and  the  Menologium.  So  we 
then  should  have  religious  English  poems  belonging  to 
the  great  prose  times  as  well  as  the  odes  in  the  Chronicle 
and  the  Battle  of  Maldon  and  the  rest  of  the  war  songs, 
of  which  we  conjecture. 

"  Does  this  worry  you  now  you  are  ill  ?    I  hope  not." 


To  J.  R.  Green. 

"Feb.  23,  '83. 

"  I  was  glad  to  hear  from  Alice  this  morning  that 
you  were  battling  so  bravely  against  your  troubles,  and 
that  your  mind  had  been  so  much  set  at  rest  about  your 
book.     I  am  certain  it  will  add  to  your  fame,  so  well  and 
finely  deserved,  and  that  we  shall  one  and  all  here  in 
England  be  grateful  to  you.     I  know  I  shall,  and  I  am 
sure  thousands  are  in  the  same   condition   as   myself. 
You  make  English  History  comprehensible  more  than  the 
others,  and  you  do  that  because,  owing  to  the  good  form 
in  which  you  put  it,  you  supply  means  which  an  inquirer 
can  profitably  use  for  his  inquiries.     You  start  him  on 
the  right  lines.     Freeman  does  too  much.     He  repeats 
himself   so   incessantly   that   he   not   only   wearies,    he 
confuses.     His  map  of  history  is  so  crowded  with  names 
that  unless  you  are  already  a  scholar,  you  cannot  find 
your  way,  or  see  the  great  divisions  or  the  counties  of 
history.     Stubbs  of  course  writes  only — in  his  Constitu- 
tional History — for   scholars,  and  it  is  only  when   you 
begin  to  know  half  as  much  as  he  knows  that  you  find 
out  the  immense  value  of  his  work.     I  say  that  you  have 
mapped  your   history  out,    so  that   men  can   see  what 
England  was,  can  find  their  way,  and  can,  if  they  want 
to  investigate  any  special  century,  or  any  special  thing, 
know  the  limits  to  which  they  ought  to  confine  them- 
selves,  the  lie  of  the  historical  position  to  which  they 
specially    address   themselves.      Work   has   been  made 
easier  at  every  point.     I  have  found  this  in  my  own 

VOL.  II.  o 


376  AFTER   SECESSION 

work,  and  it  must  be  the  experience  of  thousands.  We 
know  what  to  do,  and  we  know  how  to  do  it. 

"There  are  things  no  one— except  scholars — learn 
from  either  Freeman  or  Stubbs ;  and  I  don't  think  you 
have  any  notion  of  the  enormous  impulse  you  have  given 
to  thousands  of  small  inquirers,  like  myself,  in  this 
matter.  As  to  tiny  errors,  they  don't  count.  They  are 
easily  corrected,  and  no  one  is  free  from  them.  Even 
the  '  uncrowned  King '  of  history,  Stubbs,  is  not  free 
from  them.  His  statement  about  the  English  Literature 
of  the  11th  century  is  practically  wrong,  and  self- 
contradictory  into  the  bargain.  I  have  finished  all  my 
notes  on  English  Literature  up  to  the  Conquest,  and  I 
wish  I  could  talk  over  a  dozen  questions  with  you.  I  am 
getting  on  fast  enough  with  Anglo-Saxon,  and  shall,  long 
before  my  book  comes  out,  be  able  to  read  it  well.  I 
have  already  translated  direct  three  or  four  of  Cynewulf's 
poems.  You  can  have  no  conception  how  modern  they 
are  in  spirit.  It  is  no  exaggeration  to  say  that,  two  or 
three  things  being  excepted,  they  might  have  been 
written  by  Tennyson.  I  have  been  amazed.  The 
German  translation  gives  no  idea  of  them.  It  cannot 
catch  the  special  English  note,  does  not  represent  it. 
The  difference  between  these  poems  and  Icelandic  poems, 
or  High  German  Epics  of  a  later  date,  or  Anglo-Saxon 
poems  like  the  Heliand,  is  as  great  as  if  an  ocean 
separated  them.  Then,  they  differ  from  things  like  the 
Song  of  Brunanburh  in  being  really  works  of  Art. 
Northumbria  in  the  8th  century  must  have  been  an 
extraordinary  place.  A  man  like  Cynewulf  could  not 
have  arisen,  and  could  not  have  had  the  *  form '  he  had 
except  in  the  midst  of  a  cultured  literary  society.  .  .  . 

"  I  have  plenty  to  do  and  do  it,  sometimes  well, 
sometimes  poorly,  but  things  move.  England  is  white 
with  fear  and  terror  and  rage  about  these  Irish  Revela- 
tions, and  seems  to  have  lost  its  head  altogether. 
Forster's  speech  of  last  night  is  the  voice  of  |  of  the 
country,  and  a  more  melancholy  exhibition  to  my  mind 
was  never  made.  I  will  not  go  into  society  now.  If 
one  says  one  word  in  favour  of  the  Irish  leaders — *  Oh, 


FEARS   OF  WAR  WITH  RUSSIA  377 

you  too  sympathize  with  murder  and  abet  assassination,' 
and  the  days  of  dueUing  are  over.  We  must  wait,  and 
let  the  howling  mob  in  Parliament  and  the  country 
howl  themselves  hoarse.  Then  perhaps  the  truth  may 
be  listened  to." 

To  his  daughter  Honor. 

" Loudon. 

"April  13,  '85. 

**  I  am  tired  and  sleepy  to-day  but  otherwise  well,  not 
at  all  in  bad  spirits.  But  there  is  not  half  enough 
excitement  in  life.  Even  the  fear  of  Russian  war  does 
not  move  me,  except  to  disgust  that  national  quarrels 
must  still  be  settled  by  fists  and  clubs.  I  am  sickened 
when  I  think  of  all  it  means  of  torture  and  death  and 
shame  and  wickedness,  and  that  it  should  be  '  inevitable  ' 
is  the  worst  shame  of  all.  Moreover  I  think  it  of  the 
utmost  danger  to  our  Indian  Empire.  I  have  no  more 
faith  in  the  Ameer  being  a  faithful  ally  than  I  have  in  a 
fox  being  faithful  to  a  lion,  but  let  the  lion  be  wounded 
and  the  fox  will  gnaw  out  his  entrails.  It  is  a  desperate 
mistake,  I  think,  to  fight  the  Russians  in  Afghanistan. 
I  know  what  I  should  do  were  I  the  Ameer,  and  hated 
the  English  infidel :  get  the  English  Army  to  Herat, 
raise  the  country  in  its  rear,  call  on  the  Russians  to  fall 
on  in  front,  send  emissaries  to  all  the  Mahometan 
centres  in  India,  lift  a  new  mutiny,  blot  out  the  whole 
English  army  in  Afghanistan,  and  it  would  be  quite 
possible,  and  lose  them  or  all  but  lose  India  to  this 
country.  Bare  treachery  in  our  eyes,  but  excellent 
craft  in  Oriental  eyes." 

To  Ids  daughter  Honor. 

"  London. 

"  May  8,  '85. 

"I  got  down  to  the  Temperance  meeting  all  right, 

however,  and  then  violent  headache  began.   Young 

spouted,  and  sent  his  hands  about  like  a  windmill  as 
drunk  as  a  hatter,  and  ludicrous  he  looked.  But  I  was 
in  no  humour  for  fun,  and  could  not  enjoy  him.     He 


378  AFTER   SECESSION 

became  part  of  the  hideous  dream  of  my  head.     Miss 

sang  fairly,  the  Choir  warbled  dimly.     Dr read 

a  speech  which  he  had  printed.  It  was  all  about  culture 
and  very  uncultivated.  He  talked  of  the  '  high-toned 
Anglo-Saxon ' — confound  him !  I  had  expected  an 
enthusiastic  rousing  speech,  and  we  had  a  drivelling 
thing  about  the  ideal  life,  and  temperance  dragged  in 
here  and  there.  I  spoke  at  the  end,  but  though  I  talked 
sense,  and  was  grimly  resolved  to  give  the  exact  opposite 

of 's  wish-wash,  I  could  scarcely  see  out  of  my  eyes, 

and  only  just  managed  to  speak  clearly.  I  was  obliged 
to  leave  the  platform  immediately  and  scarcely  got 
home.  .  .  . 

"  Pfleiderer  ^  was  very  pleasant  and  gracious,  and 
very  complimentary,  and  I  enjoyed  my  lunch ;  a  gray, 
strong,  rugged  man — humorous  and  not  over-pleased 
with  Oxford  courtesy  ;  rather  alone,  he  said,  in  Berlin, 
for  he  was  too  Christian  for  them,  but  the  atheistic  and 
pessimistic  wave  was  beginning  to  ebb.  '  Hartmann,'  he 
said,  '  whom  you  take  seriously  over  here,  is  not  taken 
seriously  in  Germany.'  That  was  good  news,  I  said,  but 
I  expected  it. 

"  What  is  it  you  cannot  get  which  you  want  to  get  ? 
Define  it,  and  it  is  probable  you  will  get  it.  Not  till  far 
too  late  in  life  did  I  find  out  what  I  wanted,  for  I  lived 
in  dreams.  I  ought  to  have  realized  clearly  what  I 
wanted.  Hence  I  am  always  driving  at  people  to  put 
into  form  what  they  think  and  feel.  Shape  it,  shape  it, 
shape  it ! " 

To  his  daughter  Honor. 

"  London. 

"  Jan.  29,  '86. 

"...  The  debate  [at  the  Bedford  Chapel  Debating 
Society]  was  amusing  last  night.  The  paper  was  the 
most  wonderful  glorification  of  Dizzy  I  ever  heard  or 
could  ever  have  imagined.  I  could  scarcely  think  Beeton 
serious,  but  he  was.  They  took  him  seriously,  especially 
Clarke,  who  grew  graver  and  graver.  So  when  I  got 
up,  I   represented  D.   as  the  great    Artist   alone,   and 

'  Professor  Otto  Pfleiderer  of  Berlin. 


HIS   VIEW   OF  DISRAELI  379 

sketched  his  politics  as  Art,  and  his  poHtical  work  as 
novel  writing :  and  himself  as  the  great  hero  of  the  long 
Novel  which  he  made  his  life. 

"  I  thought  this  would  irritate  the  Tories  more  than 
anything  else,  and  I  am  glad  to  say  that  it  did.  It  is 
mighty  true  too,  which  is  the  best  and  the  worst  of  it. 
I  had  meant  to  quote  from  Shelley  to  describe  Dizzy's 
state  of  mind  when  he  looked  round  on  the  Tory  majority 
falling  to  pieces  in  '80 — but  unfortunately  I  forgot  it. 
I  quote  them  to  you.  'Twere  a  pity  the  quotation  should 
be  lost. 

"  He  looks  round  on  the  dropping  majority  and 
cries — 

"  '  Till  they  fail,  as  I  am  failing, 
Dizzy,  lost,  but  unbewailing.'  " 


To  his  dcmghter  Honor. 

*  "  Venice. 

"  Sept.  IG,  '86. 

"...  You  see,  after  all,  that  we  are  in  Venice,  and 
our  lodging  is  all  that  we  can  desire.  Only  I  do  not 
feel  in  Venice  at  all,  but  only  in  Italy.  The  long  garden 
filled  with  alleys  of  grapes,  the  fig  trees  laden  with 
fruit,  the  peach  trees,  bending  with  the  peaches,  the 
herb  garden,  full  of  broken  statues,  the  stone  benches 
and  seats,  the  two  turkeys  which  wander,  snuffling 
everywhere— the  distance  of  the  Canal  in  front  of  the 
house  from  the  part  of  the  hall  in  which  we  live, 
fully  126  feet — so  that  it  requires  some  energy  in 
this  heat  to  walk  to  the  end  to  see  the  water,  the  deser- 
tion of  the  Canal  itself,  for  being  very  remote  a  gon- 
dola rarely  passes  by — all  make  me  fancy  that  I  am 
in  a  country  place  in  Italy,  and  not  in  Venice.  But 
then  I  have  only  to  take  the  gondola  which  lies  ready 
at  the  steps  to  be  in  full  city  or  in  full  lagoon  in  a 
moment.  .  .  . 

"  Scirocco  has  arrived  this  morning  with  all  the  lead 
it  can  carry  on  its  wings.  Our  cloudless  sky  is  covered, 
our  souls  are  beginning  to  be  '  voilees.'  The  mosquitoes, 
which  are  unusually  ferocious  and  poisonous,  owing,  I 


380  AFTER  SECESSION 

think,  to  the  absence  of  strangers  (it  is  strange  to  see 
Venice  so  deserted,  a  few  gondolas  only  in  the  G.  Canal — 
nobody  in  the  Piazza)  are  enchanted  with  the  Sciroc, 
and  have  set  themselves  with  eagerness  to  their  bloody 
work.  ...  At  night  it  is  all  right.  I  hear  their  fury 
outside  my  curtains,  but  I  feel  it  not.  They  are  like 
tigresses  robbed  of  their  cubs :  but  I  lie,  unappalled, 
in  calm  and  sacred  peace,  and  listen  while  they 
scream.  .  .  . 

"  There  is  no  news  to  tell  you  here,  not  as  yet  at 
least.  The  sunsets  themselves  are  tame.  It  is  warm 
and  silent  and  pleasant  and  Italy  has  always  the  sense 
of  home,  but  life  is  altogether  unsensational  at  present ; 
outwardly  and  inwardly.  I  can  scarcely  believe  London 
exists — that  far  away  half-house  to  hell.  How  curious 
that  a  man  who  hates  it  so  heartily  as  I  do  should  be 
forced  to  live  in  it !     But  it  may  not  last  for  ever." 

To  his  daughter  Honor. 

" London. 

"  January,  1888. 

"...  I  am  not  well,  but  not  ill  as  I  might  be.  I 
am  beginning  to  despair  about  becoming  strong.  My 
leg  seems  all  right,  and  as  far  as  that  goes,  I  think  I 
might  preach  on  Sunday  next,  but  unless  I  am  better 
arranged  inside  I  think  the  exertion  of  preaching  will 
bring  on  severe  pain.  I  still  live  on  milk  only,  and  on 
very  little  of  it.  .  .  . 

"  This  is  my  condition,  and  it  is  a  charming  one. 
The  sun  is  gone,  and  the  wind  wild.  I  read,  but  I  can 
do  nothing.  Work  calls  me,  but  I  know  I  shall  break 
down  if  I  do  it.  Perhaps  not,  however,  and  I  shall  test 
the  perhaps.  I  remember  the  days  in  which  I  used  to 
bring  a  long  pin  into  the  reading-desk  with  me,  and 
when  I  felt  inclined  to  faint,  run  it  like  a  dagger  into  my 
leg.     Very  effective  it  was  ! 

"  I  have  read  Shaw's  book,  it  is  far  better  done  than 
the  last,  it  is  useful  in  many  ways,  but  how  much  more 
useful    it   might   have   been  !      It  is   too   cynical,   and 


ON   "CRAMMING"   IN   LITERATURE      381 

cynicism  revolts  the  world.  To  prove  that  the  world  is 
a  scoundrel  is  not  the  way  to  induce  the  world  not  to  be 
scoundrelly." 

To  Mrs  Crackanthorpe. 

"  Boscastle.    Sept.  14,  '88. 

"...  I  had  nice  experiences,  when  I  used  to  examine 
for  the  Civil  Service  in  English  Literature,  of  the  system 
of  cramming.  I  used  to  wish  they  would  allow  me  to 
set  a  paper  to  the  coaches.  Were  we  to  examine  the 
crammers  we  should  have  an  enchanting  result.  I 
wrote  my  Primer  with  the  intention,  as  far  as  possible, 
to  make  a  book  which  would  not  be  good  to  cram  from, 
and  that  I  partly  succeeded  was  proved  to  me  by  an 
audacious  request  from  Macmillan  to  rewrite  it,  because 
its  sale  was  falling  off  in  India  and  other  dependencies. 
It  was  found  not  to  be  a  book  out  of  which  the  masters 
of  schools  could  cram  the  pupils.  I  refused,  of 
course.  .  .  . 

"  It  is  a  fine  coast,  but  the  rest  is  nought :  a  fringe 
of  beauty,  but  the  body  more  than  commonplace  :  *  linked 
with  one  virtue  and  a  thousand  crimes.'  " 


CHAPTER  XIX 

LETTERS    TO    VARIOUS    CORRESPONDENTS 

1882-1894 

"  Who  knows  how  many  men  he  is." — (Diary,  June  20th,  1898.) 
"  I  have  lived  so  many  lives,  and  each  so  strange  to  the  others,  that 
the  latter  have  put  out  the  former.  Those  that  came  latest  were  the 
most  exciting,  and  they  seemed  to  blot  out  my  youth  and  all  my 
earlier  manhood.  Of  late  I  look  forward  rather  than  backward,  and 
what  has  been,  even  the  most  eager,  seems  now  like  a  dream  in  which 
I  scarcely  recognize  the  figure  that  memory  says  was  once  myself." — 
(From  a  letter  of  1892.) 

The  first  group  of  letters  were  all  written  to  the 
same  correspondent.  They  reveal  him  in  a  mood,  which 
would  overtake  him  at  rare  intervals,  of  violent  rebellion 
against  the  limitations  which  custom  and  habit  had 
imposed  upon  his  life.  It  was  a  mood  in  which,  as  he 
wrote  in  1911  to  his  friend  Lord  Bryce,  he  would  feel 
"  the  Motherhood  of  the  Earth  and  the  All-Fatherhood 
of  the  sky  till  I  became,  at  passing  hours,  a  bit  of  the 
primeval  man."  ^  They  are  therefore  presented  together 
rather  than  in  the  order  of  sequence  with  those  that 
follow. 

"  Naworth  Castle. 

"  3rd  Sept.,  1883. 

"I  am  as  well  as  I  shall  ever  be  in  this  world  now. 
What  will  be  in  the  next  I  must  leave  to  the  next  world 
to  arrange  for  itself.     Both  here  and  there,  there  are 

'  See  the  letter  to  Lord  Bryce  on  p.  648. 


TIRED  OF   HIS   WORK  383 

knots  which  another  hand  than  mine  will  have  to  untie. 
I  don't  care  to  take  the  trouble  to  fumble  about  their 
tangle  with  foolish  fingers.  You  see,  I  am  in  a  fantastic 
mood,  and  fit  to  write  a  sermon.  Sermon  indeed  !  More 
and  more  I  am  coming  to  dislike  writing  them,  and  it 
will  not  be  long  before  I  send  them  wholly  overboard. 
People  think  I  am  settled  and  cannot  make  breaks  in 
life — cannot  cut  life  in  two  as  with  a  sword — only  young 
men  do  so — they  say  it  is  a  mistake.  It  is  that  which 
men  at  my  time  of  life — who  are  much  detached  from 
the  world — can  do  and  often  determine  to  do.  And  I 
will  do  it  ere  long,  and  quietly  enough.  That  is,  I  will 
flit  one  day,  and  never  stop  till  I  am  out  of  hearing  of 
all  complaints  and  of  all  objections  and  of  all  abuse ;  and 
most  of  all,  of  the  nonsense  they  will  talk  of  my  giving 
up  duties  to  mankind.  I  have  done  enough  of  that  kind 
of  duty,  and  it  is  high  time,  before  I  die,  to  undertake 
another  kind.  I  allow  that  one  owes  oneself  to  men,  but 
not  always  in  the  same  way.  And  I  am  weary  of  the 
kind  of  work  I  now  do,  and  beyond  all  measure  im- 
patient with  it.  And  impatience  and  weariness  together 
— what  must  they  end  in — with  a  person  like  myself 
who  has  no  one  to  talk  to  ?  Only  in  winning  freedom 
in  a  flash  !  I  hate  ties  of  every  kind,  and  when  the 
tie  has  lasted  25  years,  it  is  time  to  smash  it,  ere  it 
becomes  a  chain.  At  present,  you  see,  my  holiday  has 
not  changed  my  temper  of  mind,  I  have  not  become  the 
peaceful,  serious,  patient  person  the  world  would  picture 
me.  On  the  very  contrary.  Perhaps  Italy  may  change 
me  into  rest,  and  leave  me  ready  for  work.  The  very 
name  of  work  galls  me  now  like  a  gadfly.  I  leave 
London  on  Wednesday  morning  for  Florence ;  and  I 
shall  be  in  London  on  Monday.  I  hear  from  the  children 
that  they  are  perfectly  happy  and  excited,  they  have 
been  at  Vevey,  and  are  now  at  Zermatt.  They  cross  the 
Monte  Moro  to  the  Lago  Maggiore,  and  I  suppose,  if  I 
feel_  inchned,  I  shall  see  them  at  Florence.  But  I  feel 
as  if  I  should  like  some  touch  of  solitude,  and  I  will 
probably  hide  away  in  some  Tuscan  town  for  a  time 
until  I  get  a  bit  tired   of  myself,  and  then  join  them. 


384    LETTERS  TO  VARIOUS  CORRESPONDENTS 

They  will  have  some  good  of  me  then — at  present,  they 
would  have  but  little  of  me.  Could  I  have  one  of  them 
alone  to  myself — it  were  well.  But  all  of  them — Stop- 
ford,  Honor,  Maud,  and  my  Brother — what  could  I  do 
with  them  all  ?  How  could  I  go  about  instructing  and 
*  doing  them  good  '  ?  It  would  bore  me  to  death.  This 
place  is  lovelier  than  ever.  It  is  a  haunt  of  old  Romance ; 
and  the  garden  where  I  now  write  is  so  rich  in  flowers 
that  grow  as  wildly  as  ballads  in  the  Border  as  to  be 
itself  a  book  of  Poems.  The  sun  is  setting— the  rooks 
fill  the  air  with  their  cries,  there  is  a  melancholy  Song 
of  Autumn  in  the  air,  and  I  am  longing  to  be  away,  and 
out  of  the  cold  North  in  Italy  where  it  is  warm  and 
bright,  and  where  all  the  world  is  set  to  the  musick  of 
Mozart." 

"  London.     8th  Sept.,  1883. 

"  So  you  are  beginning  to  realize  that  I  mean  to  be 
off.  Well,  I  wonder  you  did  not  see  how  impatient  I 
have  been  for  long  to  have  done  with  what  folk  call  my 
duties,  but  which  I  think  I  ought  to  hand  over  now 
to  younger  and  abler  men.  I  have  said  all  I  have  to 
say,  and  I  shall  never  say  it  better,  poor  as  it  has  been. 
In  two  years  I  shall  have  said  it  all  over  again  in  a 
weaker  fashion,  and  then  it  will  be  time  to  take  off  my 
hat  and  say.  Vale !  Believe  me,  after  the  first  fortnight 
it  will  leave  no  blank  in  any  one's  life.  There  is  nothing 
so  soon  forgotten  as  a  man.  But  I  am  grateful  for  your 
kindly  words,  so  very  kind  to  me ;  and  I  am  glad  that 
you  think  now  you  would  regret  my  vanishing.  What 
will  3'ou  do  in  two  years  ?  By  that  time — miles  and 
miles  away — what  may  not  have  happened  to  make  you 
think  of  my  departure,  not  with  regret,  but  with  com- 
placency or  with  indifference  ?  Things  I  thought  in- 
tolerable years  ago  I  look  at  now  with  wonder  that  I 
should  have  fashed  myself  about  them;  and  ordinary 
matters  like  my  surrender  of  public  work  which  seems 
wrong  to  you  now,  you  will  think  but  little  of  when  the 
time  comes.  I  shall  be  old  then  and  past  work,  and  no 
one  will  much  care  whether  I  go  or  stay,  and  I  shall  not 
stay  to  hear  folk  say,  He  is  not  what  he  was.     You  are 


"GIVE   ME   THE    8T0EM"  385 

sure,  you  say,  that  whatever  I  do  will  be  the  right  thing. 
That  is  just  the  thing  you  ought  not  to  be  sure  of.  I  am 
much  more  likely  to  do  the  wrong  thing,  and  not  to  care 
whether  it  is  so.  As  to  loneliness — did  I  say  I  was 
alone  ?  '  I  have  sisters  and  brothers  and  children  and 
friends,'  and  aunts  into  the  bargain,  you  say,  how  can  I 
be  alone  ?  That's  very  true  ;  but  I  don't  talk  to  them, 
not  as  I  count  talking.  But  I  did  not  say  I  was  alone ; 
nor  am  I.  I  have  had  plenty  of  talk  in  life,  and  it 
suffices.  At  present,  I  am  gay  enough.  I  have  my 
eyes  on  the  future.  At  least,  if  I  don't  get  ill,  I  shall 
save  six  weeks  from  the  darkness  and  choking  of  London, 
and  spend  them  in  sunlight  and  sunny  life.  As  to  rest 
and  peace  and  patience,  I  don't  want  them.  Time 
enough  for  them  when  I  am  ten  years  older.  Give  me 
the  storm  at  present,  and  plenty  of  it.  And  patience — 
how  am  I  ever  to  be  patient — save  when  I  am  lying 
on  the  sofa,  when  I  bring  a  beautiful  stock  of  it  into 
play.  I  am  off  to-morrow  morning,  and  I  shall  not  stop 
till  the  City  of  the  Lily  receives  me  into  its  arms,  and  I 
can  lean  over  the  parapet  of  the  Ponte  Vecchio,  and  say, 
Thank  God.  And  perhaps  I  may  come  home  in  the 
spirit  of  work  and  weary  of  unchartered  freedom.  I 
faintly  hope  so ;  but  at  present  I  am  in  another  world 
than  work.  I  saw  the  girls  yesterday  at  Shore.  They 
looked  well  and  bright,  and  Surrey  was  steady  cultured 
England  all  over,  and  all  the  people  I  met  quiet  and 

serious    and   satisfied ;    the   B s    and   R s    and 

W s,  and  they  seemed  to  me  creatures  of  another 

world ;  and  there  were  cows  and  pigs  and  plantations, 
and  every  one  was  interested  in  daily  life.  It  was  very 
nice  and  comfortable,  and  I  thought  of  it  benignly.  .  .  . 
You  are  well,  I  hope,  and  Ireland  is  at  least  not  England. 
It  has  that  vast  advantage." 

"Lynton.    April  25, '84. 

"...  The  place  is  not  at  all  like  England,  but  has  a 
foreign  air,  half  Italy,  half  France,  save  for  the  cliffs  and 
sea,  which  have  the  iron  character  of  the  Norsemen  who 
so   often   landed   on   this   coast.      I   have   walked   and 


386    LETTERS  TO  VARIOUS  CORRESPONDENTS 

wandered  and  enjoyed  myself;  yesterday  up  the  glen 
beside  the  gay  tumbling  of  the  Lyn,  over  which  the  trees 
were  half  brown  and  half  green,  and  where  the  banks 
were  as  thick  with  primroses  as  the  sky  with  stars ; 
to-day  along  the  sea-coast,  from  valley  to  valley  over 
their  streams,  and  from  cliff  to  cliff.  It  is  very  lovely 
and  very  varied,  and  I  am  very  well  ;  and  feel  as  much 
at  home  as  if  I  had  been  here  all  my  life.  I  have  done 
no  work,  read  nothing  but  one  novel  of  an  appalling 
length  and  dullness — I  chose  it  for  its  dullness — tried  to 
read  other  excellent  and  weighty  books,  but  found  my 
soul  too  flippant  for  them,  entertained  myself  by  making 
fun  with  Bryce  and  Stopford  and  Honor;  have  slept, 
eaten,  walked,  and  wondered  about  life,  and  to-morrow 
mean  to  begin  and  do  something,  but  what— I  shall  leave 
to  chance  to  determine.  All  preaching,  teaching,  lectures, 
temperance  societies,  books,  prints,  shops,  and  profes- 
sion seem  to  have  faded  as  far  away  as  Kamschatka. 
Letters  about  sermons  pursue  me,  but  I  do  not  answer 
them ;  and  Egypt  and  the  Franchise  and  the  dissolution 
and  the  mourning  for  the  Duke  of  Albany,  and  the 
paving  of  Manchester  Square,  and  the  abolition  of  the 
Aldermen,  and  what  the  Turk  intends,  and  what 
the  French,  and  all  the  things  London  cares  for  seem 
only  like  the  crying  of  the  gulls  as  they  sweep  by  the 
cliffs  here  and  pass  away  to  sea.  What's  Humanity  to 
me  or  I  to  Humanity  ! 

"  I  hope  you  are  better.  You  seemed  to  me  to  want 
a  holiday  far  more  than  I,  and  I  wish  you  could  get 
away  somewhere  and  sleep  the  days  away.  It  is  a  cruel 
pity  one  cannot,  at  will,  put  oneself  by  in  a  pleasant 
couch,  in  a  warm  land,  and  sleep  so  long  as  to  wake 
up  a  new  man.  I  think  one  ought  to  be  able  to  die 
three  or  four  times  in  life,  and  to  rise  again  fresh  and 
young  and  gay ;  and  perhaps  the  happiest  folk  in  this 
world  are  those  who  every  night  sleep  away  the  previous 
day  and  wake  every  morning  as  if  they  rose  from  the 
dead.  But  that  is  not  your  view ;  at  least  I  have  not 
heard  it." 


FLOATING   STICKS  387 

"  Lynton.     Sunday,  May,  1884. 

"  We  start  on  our  way  back  to-morrow,  stopping  at 
various  places  ca  route,  specially  at  Bristol  to  see  Stop- 
ford,^  whom  we  intend  to  surprise.  Honor  is  to  call 
in  the  gloaming  and  send  up  a  message  that  a  young 
lady,  deeply  impressed  by  his  sermon  on  Michal  and 
David,  wishes  to  have  some  confidential  conversation 
with  him.  If  that  does  not  frighten  him  and  amuse 
us  I  shall  be  surprised.  Thank  you  very  much  for  your 
letter.  ...  I  call  it  a  letter,  but  after  all,  was  it  more 
than  a  note  ?  A  letter  is  a  letter,  and  has  its  own  note ; 
a  note  is  a  note,  and  is  nothing  but  letters.  I'm  not 
uncivil,  but  I  was  driven  into  this  epigram.  But  I  dare 
say  you  have  never  written  a  letter  in  your  life,  and 
don't  know  what  it  "means.  Oh,  how  cold  it  has  been 
here !  Ever  since  last  Sunday  there  have  been  gales 
and  waves  and  clouds  in  wild  career,  and  rain,  small,  thin, 
and  close — and  then  large,  fat,  and  spaced  out ;  and  last 
night  over  the  white  sea,  lightning  and  thunder,  and 
sheeted  phantoms  of  fleeting  hail,  moving  swiftly — 
a  wild  scene  as  I  looked  out  of  window  at  three  a.m. 

"We  have  always,  however,  done  our  duty — always 
walked  for  three  hours  at  least— and  one  magnificent 
walk  we  had  over  the  hills,  in  a  flowing  wind.  Yester- 
day the  stream  was  in  flood,  and  we  amused  ourselves 
with  floating  sticks  down  it,  and  comparing  them  to 
human  lives — and  nearly  all  of  them  were  failures. 
Nature  was  too  much  for  them,  poor  souls,  they  either 
were  whirled  round  and  snapped  in  two  in  the  tumbles  of 
the  water,  or  borne  into  some  backwater,  where  they  went 
round  incessantly  in  prison,  or  left  at  last  in  some  dead 
reach  of  dead  water,  crouching  in  distressful  fear  under 
a  bank.  And  we  used,  like  the  Gods,  to  push  them  out 
into  the  turmoil  again.  If  one  has  power,  one  is  almost 
sure  to  make  a  bad  use  of  it.  However,  one,  and  one 
alone,  went  nobly  through  all  difficulties,  and  they  were 
great,  for  a  whole  mile,  and  only  resolved  on  rest  when 
he  had  had  a  very  full  career  of  many  kinds  of  life. 
And  then  he  laid  himself  by — we  did  not  disturb  him — 

'  His  son,  then  minister  at  Oakfield  Road  Chapel,  Clifton. 


388    LETTERS  TO  VARIOUS  CORRESPONDENTS 

we  could  not — yet  I  must  confess  we  couldn't  get  at  him. 
Wisest  of  all  perhaps  was  his  last  act.  He  just  put  him- 
self out  of  the  power  of  the  Gods.  I  don't  believe  I 
could  have  resisted  pushing  him  out  again  into  life,  for 
just  below  where  he  hid  there  was  a  fierce  rapid  com- 
posed of  three  waterfalls  among  great  rocks,  all  foam  and 
roar,  and  I  should  have  liked  to  have  seen  if  he  could 
have  outlived  them.  And  if  I  had  resisted  giving  him 
all  this  sorrow  for  my  own  amusement,  to  purify  my 
soul  through  the  excitement  of  pity  and  terror  for  him — 
I  am  perfectly  certain  that  Honor,  as  a  woman,  could 
not  have  resisted  the  temptation.  Indeed,  twice  she 
cried.  Father,  can't  we  get  at  him?  And  I  recognized 
the  natural  temper  of  the  woman.  But  he  remained  at 
peace.  The  wretch  knew  he  had  escaped  Fate.  And 
the  waterfalls  roared  for  him  in  vain.  I  have  been 
trying  to  write  various  things  but  have  never  got  on 
with  any  of  them — poetry  and  prose  were  alike  failures. 
To  write,  one  must  have  a  settled  time  in  front  of  one, 
or  be  at  least  in  the  humour,  and  I  was  in  the  idling 
humour,  sometimes  in  a  melancholy  humour,  wandering 
in  silence,  and  sometimes  too  gay  for  anything  but 
laughter,  but  most  frequently  too  cold  to  hold  a  pencil. 
But  it  has  been  a  pleasant  fortnight,  and  we  have  been 
comfortable  in  this  cottage. 

"  I  don't  know  when  I  shall  be  back,  but  certainly  for 
next  Sunday,  when  I  think  I  had  better  preach  on  the 
East  Wind." 

"  Shere. 

"  Sept.,  1884. 

*'  I  am  still  on  my  back,  worse  luck.     But  Mr 


comes  down  to-morrow  to  report  progress,  and  I  shall 
be  disappointed  if  he  does  not  say  to  me,  '  you  may  try 
and  walk,'  and  once  I  begin,  you  may  be  sure  I  shall  not 
let  the  grass  grow  under  my  feet.  I  am  well  enough, 
but  have  been  a  little  knocked  up,  and  lazy  in  con- 
sequence. Work  has  not  got  on  as  I  should  like,  but  I 
have  only  nine  now  of  the  Liber  St°'  to  do,  and  then  the 
book  will  be  finished.  It  will  never  be  of  any  use  to  the 
world,  but  it  may  entertain  lovers  of  Turner,  and  it  has 


HOW   TO   IMPROVE   PARLIAMENT        389 

amused  me  when  I  was  not  able  for  more  difficult  work. 
I  shall  have  done  it  by  the  time  I  am  well,  and  I  hope 
to  get  the  separate  book  out   by  Christmas.      Nobody 

has  been  staying  here  since  you  left,  except  the  P s 

for  one  night  on  their  way  to  Tyrol.  All  our  lovely 
weather  has  gone,  and  I  can  scarcely  ever  get  out,  for  I 
don't  care  for  sitting  in  rain  and  wind.  But  with  fires 
and  cosy  talk  the  rooms  are  pleasant  and  life  endurable. 
Honor  came  back  last  night  and  Sibyl,  both  well  and 
happy  and  full  of  adventures.  I  am  so  glad  you  enjoyed 
your  time,  and  indeed  Shore  was  pleasant  in  the  sweet 
light  and  air.  How  is  Ireland  ?  How  are  the  landlords, 
and,  what  I  care  for  more,  how  are  the  peasants  ?  You 
need  rest  after  all  your  hard  work  on  the  Society,  and  I 
hope  you  will  come  back,  wonderfully  refreshed,  to  that 
dull  town,  your  own  beloved  London.  How  awful  the 
winter  will  be ! — not  a  ray  of  sun,  and,  to  crown  all.  Par- 
liament sitting  with  all  its  quaint  imbecilities,  and  day 
by  day  degrading.  Fate  might  have  spared  us  this,  but 
London  deserves  it.  There  is  only  one  way  in  which 
the  business  of  the  H.  of  C.  could  be  properly  done,  and 
that  is,  by  its  meeting  at  10  a.m.  and  sitting  through  the 
day.  All  petitions,  etc.,  might  be  presented  from  9  to 
10  a.m.  One  advantage  of  that,  out  of  very  many  con- 
ducive to  quick  work,  would  be  that  none  of  the  members, 
at  least  till  after  lunch  at  2,  would  be  affected  with  wine. 
Another  vast,  nay,  incalculable,  advantage  would  be  that 
the  lawyers  would  be  so  much  more  absent.  Their  in- 
terminable talk  would  be  spared  us.  It  is  only  the 
business  of  the  Country — the  most  important  business  of 
all — which  is  done  after  dinner.  ..." 

"  Chagford.    May  18,  '86. 

"...  Had  it  been  fine  I  would  have  written  before. 
But  the  rain  makes  me  feel  insulted  by  the  universe, 
and  grim,  and  when  I  feel  so  I  am  not  fit  to  write,  even 
to  my  closest  friends.  As  to  home,  and  the  children, 
they  never  hear  under  these  circumstances,  and  you 
must  not  say  that  you  have  heard  to  the  children.  I  am 
waiting  for  a  fine  day  when  I  can  lie  outstretched  upon 


390    LETTERS  TO  VARIOUS  CORRESPONDENTS 

the  moors.  This  is  a  very  lovely  place,  even  in  rain  and 
storm,  and  I  sat  yesterday  by  a  rushing  stream,  under 
beech  and  oak,  writing  lyrics,  which  A.  S.  may  have  for 
music,  if  he  should  like  them.  There  are  quite  a  number 
done.  Poetry  has  been  my  only  work,  but  it  has  amused 
me  highly.  To  write  it  is  a  pleasure  which  never  palls, 
and  as  it  cannot  be  done  in  London,  you  may  imagine 
how  eagerly  it  is  done  here.  Were  I  now  to  be  placed 
in  a  remote  part  of  England,  here,  for  example,  in  this 
far-off  village,  I  should  never  be  one  instant  in  want  of 
subjects,  or  in  want  of  interest  in  life.  There  are  a 
hundred  poems  I  want  to  write,  and  things  occur  to  me 
incessantly.  All  I  am  afraid  of  is  that  the  things  done 
may  not  be  worth  the  doing.  I  remember  well  that  you 
did  not  show  the  smallest  interest  in  that  poem  which 
you  heard,  and  I  was  a  bit  dismayed  by  the  ominous  and 
dreadful  silence  with  which  you  passed  it  by.  But  then 
— and  it  may  be  the  only  flattering  unction  I  lay  to  my 
soul— the  subject  may  have  been  disagreeable  to  you,  or 
what  you  think  poor  work  may  seem  better  to  others. 
At  any  rate,  I  cannot  stop  writing,  at  present,  verses. 
But  my  first  experiment  on  the  public,  who  were  con- 
centrated in  you  that  night,  was  certainly  a  dead  failure, 
and  it  was  very  sad. 

"It  is  raining  hard  now,  and  we  are  writing  in  our 
little  sitting-room  in  this  Inn.  The  trees  above  the 
churchyard,  which  is  opposite  the  windows,  slowly  sway 
in  the  tiny  wind  which  has  succeeded  yesterday's  thun- 
dering tempest.  All  the  world  is  dripping  and  drenched, 
and  it  is  as  cold  as  late  October.  My  temper  is  beautiful, 
however.  I  wish  the  world  were  otherwise,  but  I  am 
fairly  content.  It  is  pleasure  to  be  away  from  sermons 
and  lectures  and  letters,  from  all  creation.  I  wish  I  were 
done  with  all  that  work  and  at  home  in  other  things." 

"  Grindelwald.     Sept.  1,  '86. 

"...  Of  all  that  has  been  done  in  politics  since  I  left, 
I  know  nothing,  and  I  am  glad  of  it.  The  Irish  question 
alone  interests  me  at  present,  and  I  do  not  think  any 
conclusion  can  be  arrived  at  for  two  years.     I  am  not 


DEATH  OF  HIS  FATHER  391 

specially  interested  in  knowing  the  steps  that  are  being 
built  up  on  which  to  found  the  conclusion.  I  am 
thoroughly  disgusted  with  the  whole  temper  of  England, 
and  wish  I  were  not  going  back  to  the  country.  It  is,  at 
present,  an  incredibly  base  place  to  live  in,  and  were  it 
not  that  I  look  upon  myself  as  a  kind  of  guest  in  the 
country,  and  therefore  bound  not  to  attack  my  hosts,  I 
would  lonrr  since  have,  so  far  as  I  am  a  public  man, 
publicly  declared  my  opinion.  I  would  have  done  it 
also,  had  I  been  an  Englishman,  for  one  of  the  country 
has  the  right  to  speak  of  the  country.  But  my  mouth 
is  tied." 

To  his  Mother  (on  the  death  of  his  Father). 

"London.    August  6,  '82. 

"...  I  wonder  how  you  are  now  that  all  is  over,  and 
I  think  of  you  continually  and  pray  that  you  may  be 
comforted.  Yet,  you  have  much  to  comfort  you.  My 
Father  had  lived  his  life  most  nobly  and  fairly  and 
sweetly,  and  had  been  the  brightness  of  all  who  knew 
him,  and  chiefly  of  his  home.  Few  have  lived  who  have 
added  so  much  to  the  charm  of  life,  and  as  I  grow  older 
in  a  world  of  much  pain  and  sorrow,  that  seems  to  me, 
among  things  lower  than  the  things  eternal,  to  be  one 
of  the  best  gifts  a  man  can  bestow.  And  yet  it  flows 
out  into  these  higher  things,  for  the  gaiety  that  charms 
can  only  be  out  of  a  heart  that  loves,  and  is  gentle,  and 
that  gives  up  its  complaints  to  think  of  others,  that 
follows  Christ  in  the  tenderness  of  love.  You  will  always 
remember  that,  and  how  beautifully  it  appeared  when  he 
was  dying.  And  every  memory  of  that  time  when  he  lay 
there,  rarely  speaking — his  faith  and  trust  in  God,  his 
perfect  hope,  his  love  of  Christ,  his  beautiful  remem- 
brances of  you  all  and  of  all  of  us,  his  thoughtfulness  for 
all  who  watched  him,  his  calm  and  the  childlike  ways 
which  mingled  so  beautifully  with  the  manliness  and 
endurance — all  will  comfort  you  when  you  think  on 
them,  and  there  will  be  a  great  joy  in  your  heart  as 
well  as  a  great  sorrow.    I  have  never  seen  so  beautiful 

VOL.  II.  D 


392    LETTERS  TO  VARIOUS  CORRESPONDENTS 

a  death-bed,  none  so  quiet,  so  at  rest,  so  individual,  so 
wrapt  in  God.  I  hope  there  is  a  tender  peace  in  your 
heart,  for  that  is  the  first  and  deepest  thing  I  should 
imagine  you  would  feel.  It  was  not  like  death  at  all. 
It  was  going  to  sleep  for  a  little  on  earth  to  waken  into 
glorious  life.  I  think  of  him  now  as  wrapt  in  enjoyment, 
as  in  eternal  youth,  all  ailments  and  sorrow  for  ever 
lost,  and  as  hoping  for  the  time  when  you  will  join  him ; 
and  often  and  often  ag  I  watched  him  lying  there,  I  said 
to  myself :  '  Anna  is  waiting  for  him,  to  welcome  him. 
He  will  not  feel  it  strange  in  the  new  land.'  I  feel  it 
strange  to  see  him  no  more  here,  and  I  am  very  sorry  to 
miss  his  dear  voice  and  no  more  to  kiss  that  white  smooth 
forehead,  always  so  attractive ;  but  my  own  grief  vanishes 
wholly  away  in  joy  that  he  is  so  happy,  so  full  of  radiant 
delight,  having  life  no  longer  burdened  with  distress,  but 
able  now  to  be  as  light  and  vivid  and  as  young  as  in  the 
far-off  days  when  he  wooed  you  by  the  Swilly,  among 
the  alders  which  you  and  I  walked  among  some  years 
ago  after  I  had  lost  Emma. 

"  I  am  not  sorry  I  did  not  see  him  die.  I  saw  enough 
to  remember  with  delight  all  my  life,  and  I  shall  never 
forget  the  beauty  of  the  scene,  nor  how  nearly  and 
lovingly  it  drew  us  all  together.  Poor  Aunt  E.,  I  am  most 
sorry  for  her.  She  will  feel  more  lonely  than  any  one 
of  us.  But  with  her  faith,  I  can  scarcely  understand  her 
sorrow.  When  one  has  lived  as  my  Father,  and  seen  and 
tasted  and  enjoyed  all  the  best  things  that  life  can  give, 
and  been  himself  throughout  noble,  and  fixed  his  love 
and  faith  beyond  this  world  in  God  and  his  Saviour, 
there  is  no  real  sorrow  to  be  felt  at  his  death  by  those 
who  were  not  like  you  and  his  children  intimately  bound 
up  with  his  presence  as  to  miss  it  every  hour.  But  even 
the  children  must  rejoice  as  I  do.  Only  you,  dearest, 
must  miss  as  none  of  us  can  do  the  faithful  and  loving 
companion  of  more  than  fifty  years.  But  God  will  com- 
fort, strengthen  and  cheer  you.  And  you  will  think  of 
his  happiness  more  than  of  your  own  grief.  Have  you 
not  been  thinking  of  how  to  make  him  happy  for  many, 
many  years !  And  now  he  is  happier  than  even  you 
could  have  made  him." 


The  Fatheb  of  Brooke. 


[To  face  page  392. 


NATURE   IS   WOMAN  393 

To  his  brother,  Major-General  Edward  Brooke. 

"  London.     Feb,  24,  '84. 

** .  .  .  If  I  had  any  peace  at  all  I  should  write  to  you 
every  mail,  but  day  after  day  goes  by,  and  I  am  almost 
too  overwhelmed  at  present.  For  it  is  not  only  the  days, 
but  the  nights  also  that  are  occupied,  and  I  know  when 
August  comes  round  again  that  I  shall  be  as  prostrate 
as  I  was  last  year,  when  I  thought  I  should  never  again 
have  any  pleasure  in  life.  But  I  don't  mean  this  to  last 
for  ever,  and  in  October  [of  next]  year,  unless  the  unfore- 
seen occur,  I  shall  leave  London  for  at  least  two  years 
and  live  abroad.  And  then,  if  you  go  to  Italy,  we  shall 
live  together,  and  nothing  should  I  like  better.  I  want  to 
write  my  book,  and  there  is  no  chance  of  doing  it  here. 
I  have  a  lecture  on  English  Literature  once  a  week.  I 
have  a  Debating  Society  once  a  fortnight,  and  I  have  all 
the  management  of  these  things  and  of  the  College  on 
my  hands,  and  then  there  is  Sunday,  and  a  large  and 
necessary  correspondence.  I  don't  know  where  to  turn 
at  times.  Well,  it  is  at  least  life,  and  when  I  am  well  I 
enjoy  it  enough.  .  .  . 

"  The  storm  would  have  interested  me,  no  doubt,  but 
I  agree  with  you,  I  don't  like  all  the  savage  destruction 
of  pretty  and  tender  things.  And  the  pitilessness  of 
Nature  in  her  tempestuous  moods  revolts  me.  But  she 
certainly  makes  up  for  it.  She  is  like  a  reckless  woman 
whom  one  loves,  and  who  loves  with  passion.  Her 
savage  moods  are  more  than  forgotten  when  she  gives 
all  her  rapture  in  her  love.  The  woman  element  is  the 
most  powerful  in  the  Universe.  Nature  herself  is  Woman 
from  head  to  foot.  The  Man  has  scarcely  any  place  in 
the  Universe.  .  .  . 

"  The  Chapel  gets  on  well.  There  is  no  falling  off  in 
the  congregation  or  in  the  interest  shown  in  things.  I 
am  astonished.  For  I  should  have  thought  they  would 
all  have  been  wearied  out  long  ago,  and  have  sought  for 
other  food.  Of  course  I  should  not  have  liked  their 
going  away,  but  I  have  always  expected  it.  Well,  sooner 
or  later  it  will  come,  and  i  am  prepared  for  it.     It  is 


394    LETTERS  TO  VARIOUS  CORRESPONDENTS 

high  time  a  younger  and  abler  man  took  up  my  work. 
But  I  feel  no  lessening  of  excitement  in  it,  on  the  con- 
trary, I  am  much  more  full  of  life  and  of  eagerness  than 
I  was  five  years  ago.  Trouble,  of  which  I  have  had  a 
quantity,  has  not  beaten  me,  and  my  only  difficulty  now 
is  that  things  kindle  and  stir  me  so  much.  I  should 
like  a  little  inward  quiet,  but  the  candle  is  burning  at 
both  ends.  Total  Abstinence  has  had  this  result  on  me. 
It  has  taken  the  drag  off  the  coach  wheels." 

To  his  Mother. 

"  London.     Dec.  24,  '84. 

"...  I  cannot  write  a  long  letter,  for  I  have  so  much 
to  do,  but  Christmas  Day  must  not  pass  without  your 
receiving  a  little  note  from  me  to  express  my  faithful 
love,  and  continual  memory  of  our  long  and  happy,  and 
lately  of  our  sad  days  together,  *  Sunshine  and  shadow 
is  life,  flower  and  thorn.'  But  we  have  always  loved 
each  other  well,  and  I  have  always  had  for  you,  beyond 
love,  the  reverence  and  honour  of  a  son  to  a  noble 
mother.  Dearest,  I  wish  you  all  the  joy  God  gives  to 
those  who  love  Him,  and  whom  He  loves,  and  though 
we  have  some  difference  concerning  Him  whom  we  most 
think  of  on  Christmas  Day,  yet  God  will  make  all  opinion 
right  in  the  end,  and  you  can  scarcely  love  Jesus,  our 
Saviour,  more  than  I.  He  is  with  you,  in  my  belief,  and 
with  me,  and  with  all  we  love,  and  with  my  dear  Father, 
and  we  are  bound  together  in  Him,  and  in  God  our 
Father.  Therefore  we  are  right  to  rejoice  to-day,  and 
to  love  one  another  well." 

To  Miss  Howard. 

"  London.     Feb.  13,  '85. 

"...  I  have  not  yet  read  Geo.  Eliot's  Life,  but  then 
you  know  that  1  have  not  much  interest  in  her  personality. 
The  only  thing  that  really  interested  me  in  her  as  a 
person  was  that  for  which  the  world  most  abuses  her. 
I  was  pleased  to  find  she  could  fall  headlong  into  love, 


GEORGE   ELIOT  395 

and  spite  of  a  hundred  objections  marry  Mr  Cross. 
This  is  quite  a  different  thing  from  saying  that  I  was 
glad  she  had  regularised  herself.  For  that  I  did  not 
care  a  button.  But  she  spoilt  much  of  that  action  by 
making  it  a  regular  regularisation,  by  marrying  at  St 
George's,  Hanover  Square,  etc.,  etc. 

"  Oh  what  a  falling  off  was  there !  But  you  will 
think  this  wild  talk,  and  perhaps  it  is  foolish  to  say  it. 
But  then  you  will  not  mind  it. 

"  George  Eliot  at  root  was  a  Philistine.  She  was  an 
artist  hy  the  way,  and  never  a  real  one.  She  had  great 
human  sympathy,  she  had  keen  observation  and  she 
had  a  fine  intellect,  and  over  and  above,  she  could  put 
what  she  felt,  observed  and  thought  into  form,  but  the 
predominance  of  intellect  in  her,  or  shall  I  say  the  pre- 
dominance she  chose — most  foolishly — to  give  it,  spoilt 
her  formative  power,  and  again  and  again  made  her 
commonplace.  Above  all,  it  gave  that  tone  to  her  work, 
which  more  and  more  increased  upon  her — of  teaching 
rather  than  feeling,  of  first  thinking  and  then  feeling  a 
matter  out,  and  of  a  consequent  tentativeness  in  all  she 
did — which  is  wholly  apart  from  the  work  of  a  true 
artist.  And  I  think  she  felt  this  herself.  She  ought  to 
have  followed  her  heart  alone.  Then  she  might  have 
been  truly  great  in  art." 

To  Rev.  Arthur  Brooke. 

"February  15,  '85. 

"...  Funny  things  happen  every  day.  People 
have  taken  to  sending  me  large  cheques,  in  requital  of 
the  '  spiritual  help  '  I  give  them— fifty  pounds  two  days 
ago,  and  this  is  the  second  time  within  a  month.  Very 
odd  manners  I  think,  and  very  inconsequent — one  ought 
not  to  have  cheques  as  reward  for  consolation.  Of  course 
I  send  them  back,  but  I  don't  think  the  senders  under- 
stand why  I  do.  I  wish  they  would  send  them  for  the 
poor.  I  could  well  spend  £500  this  moment  in  lifting 
people  out  of  the  Slough  of  Despond." 


396    LETTERS  TO  VARIOUS  CORRESPONDENTS 
To  Miss  Hoivard. 

"London.    Nov.  15,  '85. 

"...  I  am  sorry  you  do  not  like  Dante;  but  I  can- 
not make  out  whether  you  are  reading  him  in  Itahan 
or  not.  He  is  interesting — profoundly  so — outside  his 
own  tongue ;  but  you  are  not  reading  poetry.  But  if  you 
read  him  in  Italian,  it  is  not  interest  in  the  history  or 
the  opinions,  or  pleasure  or  displeasure  in  the  justice  or 
injustice  of  the  awards,  but  passion  for  the  poetry. 
Everything  is  lost  in  the  magnificence  of  the  imagi- 
nation, of  the  style,  of  the  emotion  and  of  the  verse. 
After  that  sweep  in  the  Thoughts." 

To  Alfred  Hayes} 

"London.     July  11,  '87. 

"...  I  don't  believe  that  poetry  is  made  one  bit 
the  worse,  but  even  the  better,  for  being  written  in  the 
midst  of  work  like  yours.  Chaucer  spent  most  of  his 
day  in  business,  so  did  Shakespeare,  so  did  Burns. 

"  The  retired  gentleman  who  writes  poetry  in  his 
place  in  the  country  is  quite  a  modern  creation.  Art 
works  of  itself,  the  seed  is  sown  and  gathers  life  and 
grows  up,  no  one  knows  how,  while  the  man  is  working 
at  something  else,  and  then,  in  a  moment  of  leisure  the 
plant  flowers.  .  .  . 

"  I  am  so  glad  that  more  work  is  coming  from  you. 
Write  some  more  lyrics  like  those  lovely  ones  at  pages  131 
and  134.  It  is  a  pleasure  to  think  that  I  have  ever 
helped  you." 

To  Alfred  Hayes. 

"London.     Jan.  16,  '88. 

"...  I  have  found  the  passage  in  my  sermon  of 
which  I  spoke  to  you ;  but  I  do  not  know  where  it  comes 
from.  I  have  forgotten  that.  It  seems  to  me  to  be  from 
Eckermann's  Conversations,  but  I  cannot  tell.     But  it  is 

'  Now  Principal  of  the  Midland  Institute,  Birmingham. 


GOETHE'S   IDEA  OF  GOD  397 

interesting,  in  the  light  of  what  1  was  saying,  to  compare 
it  with  the  impersonal  conception  of  God  (which  was 
necessary  to  him  as  a  Poet  in  contact  with  Universal 
Thought  and  Beauty)  contained  in  his  answer  to 
Gretchen.  You  see,  when  he  looked  at  the  matter  from 
the  personal  side,  from  the  wants  of  the  soul,  as  man 
would  say,  and  from  the  necessity  of  finding  some  one  in 
whose  love  he  might  leave  those  he  loved,  the  whole  note 
is  changed.  Having  felt  the  impersonal,  he  also  feels  the 
personal. 

"This  is  the  passage,  written  when  he  was  72 
years  old. 

"  '  I  have  meant  honestly  all  my  life  with  myself  and 
others,  and  in  all  my  earthly  strivings  have  looked 
upwards  to  the  Highest.  You  and  yours  have  done  so 
likewise.  Let  us  continue  to  work  thus  while  there  is 
daylight  for  us  ;  for  others  another  sun  will  shine  by 
which  they  will  work,  while  for  us  a  brighter  Light  will 
shine.  And  so  let  us  remain  untroubled  about  the 
future.  In  our  Father's  Kingdom  there  are  many 
provinces,  and  as  He  has  given  us  here  so  happy  a 
resting  place,  so  will  He  certainly  care  for  us  above. 
Perhaps  we  shall  be  blessed  with  what  here  on  earth  has 
been  denied  us,  to  know  one  another  merely  by  seeing 
one  another,  and  thence  more  fully  to  love  one  another.' 

"  Contrast  that  with  the  wretched — I  mean  that  abso- 
lutely, not  contemptuously — pot-ition  which  a  man  like 
Shorthouse  occupies.  It  is  icant  of  intellect,  I  always 
say,  which  drives  a  man  into  the  denial  of  Immortality, 
not  fulness  of  intellect  as  they  think." 

To  Mrs  Humphry  Ward. 

"  Shere.     June  28,  '88. 

"...  I  have  been  on  the  point  several  times  of  writing 
about  Robert  Elsmere,  for  I  have  read  it  through.  But 
I  knew  that  you  would  know  how  entirely  I  feel  with  you 
in  the  religious  part  of  that  book,  and  that  I  need  say 
nothing  about  that.  Of  course  you  stand  between  two 
fires,  between  the  orthodox  like  Gladstone,  whose  article 


398    LETTERS  TO  VARIOUS  CORRESPONDENTS 

I  can  conjecture — I  have  not  read  it — and  the — what 
shall  I  call  them,  their  sects  are  legion,  Agnostics, 
Spencerians,  Mallockians,  Materialists,  Atheists,  Posi- 
tivists — whose  cue  it  is  to  say  that  if  the  supernatural  be 
taken  away  from  Christianity,  Christianity  has  no  exist- 
ence, which  is  much  the  same  as  to  say,  that  if  we  take 
away  the  mists  from  a  mountain,  the  mountain  is  gone, 
or  that  if  we  took  off  Frederic  Harrison's  clothes.  Posi- 
tivism would  be  no  more. 

"  The  only  thing  to  do  in  these  warring  circumstances 
is  to  say  nothing,  and  let  the  truth  have  its  way.  It  is 
enough  to  put  the  thing  clearly  as  you  have  done,  and  to 
go  on  putting  it.  When  I  say,  '  To  say  nothing,'  I  mean 
to  say  nothing  about  the  adversaries,  not  to  hold  one's 
peace  about  the  thing  itself.  Ignore  the  opponents,  and 
say  your  say  over  again.  Then  the  opponents  will  in 
the  end  annihilate  one  another,  and  a  weary  or  an 
amused  world  will  turn  to  that  form  of  Truth  which  has 
not  wasted  its  wits  or  its  emotion  in  argument.  Make 
what  you  think  lovely,  that  is  the  winning  way.  I  am 
glad  you  have  not  answered  Gladstone.  I  am  sure  I 
should  be  still  more  glad  had  I  read  his  article.  If  you 
answer  him,  if  you  get  into  analysis,  etc.,  you  will  take 
all  the  beauty  out  of  the  continuance  of  your  book. 

"  Well,  the  world  has  congratulated  you  on  the  book, 
and  I  am  delighted  that  it  has  seen  so  clearly  what  is 
good  and  fair.  There  are  many  things  I  should  like  to 
say  about  it,  but  this  letter  is  already  too  long.  Like  the 
high  placed  correspondents  of  the  Times,  I  will  ask  for 
more  space  at  a  future  time." 

To  his  Mother. 

"  London.     April  25,  '88. 

"...  The  kind  of  letter  you  write  about  a  man's 
poems  is  what  I  call  really  satisfactory.  If  you  only 
knew  the  twaddle  that  is  written  to  me,  the  undistinctive 
praise  and  blame,  the  senseless  phrasing  of  vague 
flattery,  the  general  mixture  up,  in  what  they  say,  of 
poems  as  distinct  as  the  tropics  and  the  arctic  region,  you 


mS   MOTHER'S   CRITICISM  399 

would  feel  how  consoling  it  is  to  get  a  letter  from  some 
one  who  takes  the  trouble  to  say,  '  I  like  this,  and  this  is 
why  I  like  it ;  I  dislike  that,  and  this  is  why  I  dislike  it.' 
Of  course  this  is  not  trouble  you  would  ask  from  anyone 
but  people  who  like  you  well,  and  indeed  one  does  not 
ask  it  from  anyone,  but  if  they  do  write  and  if  they  come 
and  call  upon  you  to  do  this  of  tlieir  own  accord,  you  do 
expect  some  intelligence  from  them.  One  woman  was 
here  the  other  day — a  woman  I  have  known  for  twelve 
years,  a  woman  too  of  intelligence  and  feeling — *  0,'  she 
said,  '  I  like  the  "  Six  Days,"  it's  awfully  nice,  but  don't 
you  think  the  girl  is  a  little  too  flirty  ?  '  My  poor  girl 
whom  I  loved  and  thought  was  gay  and  tender.  But 
that  criticism  was  fair  enough.  It  showed  the  woman's 
own  mind.  What  I  do  object  to  is  a  phrase  like  '  awfully 
nice,'  or  that  other  female  who  said  it  was  *  not  quite 
A  1.'     What  is  the  sense  of  these  things  ? 

"  You  must  not  take  small  lyrics  like  *  Speak  to  me,' 
as  if  they  represented  the  whole  of  a  man's  thinking  on 
the  subject.  A  lyric  is  the  record  of  a  passing — it  may 
be — of  a  momentary  mood.  If  the  mood  be  sufficiently 
full  of  emotion,  it  will  of  itself  get  into  poetry,  but 
the  very  opposite  mood  may  occur  an  hour  afterwards. 
Nor  do  I  think  you  will  ever  find,  in  any  lyric  in  the 
world,  the  record  of  the  settled  conviction  of  a  man  con- 
cerning the  graver  elements  of  life.  Nearly  every  lyric 
in  that  book  arose  out  of  things  and  feelings  which  did 
not  take  an  instant  to  pass  by,  and  were  suggested  by 
what  I  saw  others  doing  and  feeling. 

"  In  '  Lost  for  Ever '  the  creature  who  is  lost  is  not 
supposed  to  be  dead  at  all.  It  is  in  fact  love  that  is  lost, 
not  any  loved  person — lost  association — it  is  as  light  as 
air,  the  whole  force  of  the  last  verse  is  on  the  word  if.  I 
was  much  amused  as  I  wrote  that  poem  which  I  did  in  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  crossing  the  lake  of  Como  from 
Meuaggio  to  Bellagio. 

"  I  am  so  glad  the  book,  as  a  whole,  pleases  you, 
though  you  dislike  portions  of  it.  I  believe  all  the  more 
in  you  being  pleased  with  much  of  it  because  of  your 
dislike  to  parts  of  it. 


400    LETTERS  TO  VARIOUS  CORRESPONDENTS 

"  I  can't  get  off  the  sofa  yet.  I  hope  to  be  better 
soon.  It  is  provoking,  but  what  am  I  to  do,  living  in  a 
place  which  is  poison  ?  " 

To  Francis  Palgrave. 

"  Tintagel.     Oct.  4,  '88. 

"...  I  have  only  just  heard,  in  this  remote  place, 
of  Gifford's  death.  I  can  scarcely  believe  it;  but  the 
more  I  believe  it  the  greater  is  my  sorrow.  He  was  a 
very  dear  friend  to  me,  and  no  man  lived  whom  I  loved 
more.  We  were  always  happy  together.  I  shall  never 
have  another  friend  so  dear.  I  am  too  old  now  to  find 
another,  and  whom  could  I  find  worth  so  much  ?  I  am 
sorry  for  you." 

To  Miss  Howard. 

"  London.     Oct.  16,  '88. 

"...  I  mean  by  the  Skeleton  of  the  old  Theology 
the  whole  of  the  Scheme  business  with  its  intellectual 
arrangement  of  interlaced  doctrines,  one  of  which  being 
taken  away,  nay,  one  of  which  being  re- shaped  in  other 
words,  the  whole  falls  to  pieces,  being  not  a  spiritual  but 
a  logical  labyrinth.  In  a  spiritual  labyrinth,  as  indeed 
every  soul  walks  in  with  God,  one  can  find  one's  way 
blindfold,  because  impassioned  emotion  leads  us  right. 
In  the  other,  unless  one  takes  the  clue  of  the  Church, 
the  way  is  lost  at  once. 

"  The  truths  on  which  you  anchor  yourself  are 
clothed  in  flesh  and  warm  with  blood.  They  are  living 
things  with  voice  and  hands,  and  they  speak  to  each  of 
us  the  same  glory  in  various  words  and  lead  us  to  the 
same  ends  by  various  paths.  What  would  be  the  use 
noiv  of  my  preaching  about  the  Fall  and  Eternal  Punish- 
ment ?  Were  I  to  preach  in  Hyde  Park — yes !  But  to 
my  congregation  ?  " 

To  James  Bryce. 

"  London.    Nov.  16,  '88. 

"  I  wonder  where  you  are,  mid — Dusky  faces  with 
white  turbans  wreathed — and  picking  up  knowledge  as 


LONDON   AIR  401 

Tom  Tiddler  picked  up  gold  and  silver.  I  cannot  place 
you  anywhere,  and  whether  you  are  at  a  ball  at  the 
Governor's,  or  on  an  elephant  at  an  Indian  court,  or 
shooting  tigers  and  catching  fevers  in  the  Terai,  or 
poised  on  a  peak  of  the  Himalayas,  I  cannot  tell.  But 
I  suppose  you  have  not  changed  your  view  of  your 
friends,  and  that  you  will  not  be  displeased  by  a  note 
from  me.  I  only  trust  that  you  are  well  and  happy. 
For  me,  I  am  getting  overtired  already.  The  weather 
is  close  and  damp  and  warm,  and  I  find  it  hard  to 
breathe.  Tintagel  is  all  very  well,  but  it  ruins  one  for 
London  air.  To  have  drunk  a  wind  which  has  blown 
over  3000  miles  of  sea,  and  perhaps  only  passed  over 
the  heads  of  a  few  watchers  on  the  prows  of  ships,  and 
then  to  swallow  with  diflQculty  an  air  infected  by  five 
millions  of  grubby  human  beings  half  of  whom  are  dis- 
eased, is  a  change  I  And  I  have  not  been  able  to  get  rid 
of  my  loathing  of  it  yet.  I'd  rather  be  a  needy  knife- 
grinder  and  drive  my  wheel  over  the  roads  and  sleep  in 
the  dingles  under  a  canvas.  I've  scarcely  been  able, 
with  incessant  interruptions,  to  get  half  a  dozen  pages 
of  writing  done  since  I  came  back.  But  I  am  going  to 
try  what  isolation  in  a  lodging  will  do  for  me.  I  have 
not  got  in  yet,  but  shall  soon.  When  the  time  comes, 
in  about  a  week,  I  shall  have  lost  all  the  vigour  with 
which  I  came  back  That,  at  least,  is  my  impression  to- 
day. We  are  panting  for  the  American  book.  England 
lies  like  a  dog  waiting  for  its  master  to  come  out,  waiting 
for  your  book  to  come  out.  And  I  am  told  that  sixty 
millions  or  so  of  human  beings  in  America,  to  say  nothing 
of  the  millions  more  in  Australia  and  the  islands  of  the 
seas,  are  in  the  same  enthralled  condition." 


To  Miss  Howard. 

"  Grasmere.     Aug.  21,  '89. 

"...  Yes,  I  am  sure,  a  reasonable  and  noble  theology 
is  the  greatest  of  wants.  But  I  have  no  care  to  read  much 
about  what  I  have  got  at  last,  after  years  of  trouble.     To 


402    LETTERS  TO  VARIOUS  CORRESPONDENTS 

read  of  it  only  recalls  the  worries  of  the  way.  I  prefer 
to  rest  in  the  green  meadows  where  I  am,  and  to  know 
that  every  day  God  reveals  new  splendour  and  beauty, 
and  that  so  it  will  be  for  ever.  But  that  does  not  pre- 
vent my  agreeing  with  you  that  it  is  well  to  preach  the 
highest  view  that  one  can  conceive  of  Him  who  is  at  once 
Law  and  Love.  My  dislike  of  Theology  is  only  a  per- 
sonal dislike  of  reading  about  all  the  views  of  others,  of 
their  analysis  and  comparison,  etc.,  etc.,  all  of  which  is 
of  the  intellect  and  not  of  the  spirit." 


To  Miss  Hoivard. 

"  Grasmere.     Oct.  16,  '89. 

"...  As  to  Arnold,  of  course  I  admire  and  have 
always  admired  him,  but  he  doesn't  suit  me.  I  prefer 
another  type  of  man.  He  is  very  English,  the  best  kind 
of  Englishman,  and  I  contemplate  the  best  Englishman 
from  a  distance  just  as  I  contemplate  the  best  kind 
of  Roman,  but  I  don't  care  for  either  Arnold  or  Cin- 
cinnatus.  They  are  admirable  and  I  praise  them,  but 
I  should  not  care  to  live  with  them ;  indeed  they  would 
bore  me  to  death.     Let  me  admire  them  at  a  distance  ! 

"  I  suppose  I  shall  glance  at  Rogers'  life  and  letters. 
If  he  had  not  been  a  rich  banker  and  had  not  given  good 
dinners,  and  kept  a  good  house,  he  would  not  have  been 
much  more  than  a  merchant  in  excelsis.  What  Sidney 
Smith  said  of  him  settles  his  place :  '  When  Rogers 
makes  a  couplet,  the  pap  is  got  ready,  the  nurse  is  in- 
stalled, the  knocker  is  tied  up  with  a  white  glove,  and 
the  servant  has  orders  to  say  that  his  master  is  as  well 
as  can  be  expected.'  " 


To  Lady  Mary  Howard.^ 

"  Nov.  21,  '89. 

"  How  long,  how  very  long  I  have  known  you,  and 
how  much  affection  I  have  for  you !    Theye  is  no  need  of 

'  On  her  engagement  to  Professor  Gilbert  Murray. 


MILTON'S   SATAN  403 

words  to  tell  you  that,  and  you  know  with  what  gladness 
and  hope  I  look  forward  to  your  life,  and  how  much 
good  work  and  blessing  I  wish  into  it.  It  is  a  good 
thing  to  live  well  and  to  be  at  one  with  another,  and  all 
effort  and  trouble  are  easy  then.  I  am  full  of  pleasure 
and  tenderness  and  eagerness  as  I  think  of  all  you  will 
do,  and  all  the  good  your  very  presence  and  ways  will  be 
to  many.  There  are  those  whose  influence  is  as  great 
when  they  are  still,  as  the  influence  of  those  who  are 
able  to  be  very  active  ;  and  you  are  one  of  these,  when 
you  are  unable  to  do  much  work.  You  will  be  a  blessing 
and  impulse  to  many,  and  I  am  glad  of  it. 

"  Here  is  my  little  gift  to  you.  I  know  it  is  bold 
giving  you  something  to  wear.  But  length  of  affection 
and  knowledge  may  plead  for  me,  and  I  could  not  but 
make  this  claim.  If,  when  some  association  brings  the 
giver  to  remembrance,  you  wear  it  once  or  twice  a  year, 
I  shall  be  happy. 

"  Yours  ever  affectionately, 

"  Stopford  a.  Brooke." 


To  Clement  Shorter. 

"  New  Year's  Day,  1890. 

"  I  have  meant  to  write  to  you  for  some  time,  but 
forgot  it. 

"  What  you  said  about  my  Milton  mistook  the  scope 
of  the  book — but  that  is  of  no  importance.  It  is  only 
my  own  affair. 

"  What  is  interesting  is  the  question  as  to  the  hero 
of  the  Epic.  Y^'ou  and  Garnett  say  Satan  is  the  hero.  I 
cannot  even  grasp  your  position. 

"  It  is,  first,  not  a  question  as  to  what  you  or  I  or 
Garnett  thinks — it  is  a  question  as  to  what  Milton  thought 
and  whom  he  meant  to  be  his  hero.  And  it  is  secondly 
a  question  as  to  whom  we  are  forced  by  the  conduct  of 
the  Epic,  and  in  accordance  with  the  Epical  Form  to 
consider  the  hero. 

"  Both  the  questions  can  be  answered  together. 


404    LETTERS  TO  VARIOUS  CORRESPONDENTS 

"  The  hero  of  an  Epic  passes  through  a  series  of 
events,  all  of  which,  whether  for  Man  or  the  Gods,  cluster 
and  centre  round  him — and  through  which  he  is  to  develop 
so  as  to  be  left,  at  the  end  of  the  epic,  purified,  ennobled, 
and  his  image  on  our  minds. 

"  This  Homer  does  for  Achilles — Vergil  for  ^neas, 
Dante  for  himself — and  this  Milton  does  for  Man. 

"  Then  take  the  other  side  of  the  matter.  In  the 
Iliad  Homer  does  not  degrade  Achilles  in  mind  and  body 
and  leave  him  shamed  and  defeated  at  the  end.  Nor 
does  Vergil  do  this  for  ^neas,  nor  Dante  for  himself  in 
the  Comedy.  Nor  do  these  three  epic  poets  make  their 
hero  absolutely  disappear  out  (of)  the  epic  before  its 
close. 

*'  All  these  things  Milton  does  for  Satan  whom  you 
and  others,  in  an  extraordinary  fashion,  choose  as  hero, 
because  he  is  not  altogether  apart  from  arch-angelic 
force  and  dignity  at  the  beginning — Milton  slowly  de- 
grades Satan — in  mind  and  body.  Step  by  step  he  lowers 
his  image.  He  leaves  him  shamed  and  degraded,  at  the 
moment  of  his  greatest  pride,  he  makes  him  a  hipsing ; 
sends  him  on  his  belly  before  all  his  thanes,  to  eat  the 
dust — joins  them  to  him  in  his  degradation;  makes  him 
disappear  altogether  out  of  the  poem. 

*'  No  Epic  writer  in  the  whole  world  ever  treated  his 
hero  in  this  fashion.  Bring  me  a  single  proof  of  it — you 
and  Garnett  have  known  of  the  epic  standard  and  are 
making  a  hero  out  of  your  own  fancy." 

To  one  who  had  lost  a  brother  through  suicide. 

1891. 

"...  I  was  distressed  by  your  letter,  for  it  seemed 
so  full  of  pain,  and  I  was  very  much  grieved  for  you. 
"When  grief  is  so  near,  words  are  weak  to  meet  it,  and  I 
often  think  that  there  are  many  who  must  go  down  to 
the  very  bottom  of  the  cup  and  drink  the  last  drop  of 
its  bitterness  before  comfort  and  peace  come  again. 
There  is  no  end  to  our  imagination  of  sorrow  and  to 
the  subtleties  of  pain  which  we  invent.     Better  to  let 


DE   PROFUNDIS  405 

the  pain  invent  all  its  modes,  and  then  when  all  has 
been  done,  we  get  weary  of  pain,  and  resurrection  begins. 
I  say  this,  because  I  see  that  you  are  in  that  maze  of 
trouble  which  I  know  so  well.  I  was  once  tormented 
by  my  own  imaginations  to  that  degree  that  I  did  not 
know  what  to  do.  All  the  time  I  knew  that  my  fancy 
was  working  on  my  pain,  and  that  I  should  get  through. 
At  last,  I  said,  I  will  go  down  to  the  last  invention  of 
pain  and  meet  them  all  one  by  one  as  if  they  were 
realities,  and  then  I  shall  see  my  way  out. 

"  I  don't  believe  that  your  brother,  in  that  higher 
land,  and  in  that  brighter  air,  does  not  see  with  clearer 
eyes  than  we  think,  his  past,  his  misjudgments,  or  his 
troubles,  and  if  he  sees  clear,  he  will  be  satisfied  with 
whatever  is  allotted  to  him.  Clearness  will  please  him, 
and  if  he  knows  he  has  been  driven  into  troubles  he  will 
also  know  that  he  can  get  out  of  them,  and  then,  being 
of  the  character  he  was,  it  will  not  be  so  much  sorrow  as 
resolution  which  he  will  feel ;  knowing  an  end  of  peace 
and  light,  he  will  not  mind  any  battle  he  has  to  wage. 
And  if,  looking  back,  he  sees  that  his  home  is  in  distress 
and  that  those  he  loved,  like  you,  are  in  pain  for  him,  he 
will  of  course  sutler  some  deep  distress,  but  God  will  be 
with  him,  and  being  a  true  man,  he  will  say :  Let  me 
become  worthier  than  ever  of  those  I  loved.  Let  me 
meet  them,  when  life's  troubles  are  over,  midst  of  the 
joy  of  noble  work  and  of  all  mistakes  redeemed.  If  there 
is  anything  which  the  dead  feel  more  than  we  of  God,  it 
is,  I  believe,  more  exalted  hope  for  themselves,  clearer 
views  of  trouble  and  more  faith  in  the  victory  of  good 
over  all  the  failures  of  men.  And  I  believe,  also,  if  they 
know,  as  I  think  they  do,  of  what  we  are  thinking  of 
them,  they  desire  that  we  should  not  grieve  so  much  for 
them  as  that  we  should  say  to  ourselves — I  know  he  is 
brave  and  true,  that  God  is  very  near  to  him,  and  that 
he  will  conquer  all  pain  in  peace.  That  is  the  way  I 
look  at  it.  That  is  what  the  dead  wish  us  to  feel  con- 
cerning them,  and  it  is  the  natural  human  thing." 


406    LETTERS  TO  VARIOUS  CORRESPONDENTS 
To  Mrs  Humphry  Ward. 

"  [London]  Jan.  12,  '92. 

"...  I  feel  that  this  book  ^  is  one  of  those  which  will 
not  pass  away.  I  do  not  mean  from  the  reading  public, 
but  from  the  thought  and  affection  of  men  and  women. 
It  has  a  seizing  power,  and  it  will  strengthen  and 
comfort,  and  open  ways  of  salvation  to  many  troubled 
spirits  for  many  years.  If  you  only  had  been  yourself 
a  little  more  storm- tossed,  it  might  have  driven  its 
plough  somewhat  deeper,  but  of  that  I  am  not  quite 
sure.  It  is  not  always  those  who  have  been  pitilessly 
beaten  by  the  storm  who  can  best  describe  the  storm. 
That  is  sometimes  best  done  by  sensitive  imagination 
which  sometimes  feels  beyond  experience,  and  there  are 
passages  in  this  book  which  give  me  that  impression. 

"  I  have  seen  some  reviews,  but  none  of  them  have 
yet  recognized  what  you  have  done  in  the  way  of  creation, 
not  only  of  types  of  ch^jiaeter  of  common  people  un- 
commonly treated,  but  of  character  new  to  fiction,  but 
not  new  to  human  nature,  and  the  number  and  variety 
of  these  is  surprising  and  delightful.  There  is  not  one 
character  in  the  book  who  is  not  quite  after  his  own 
pattern  and  of  his  own  building,  and  the  result  has  been 
made  a  piece  of  art  by  the  way  in  which  it  is  presented. 
It  is  a  perfect  blessing  that  you  can  do  this  Vorstellung 
business  without  wearying  us  to  death  as  George  Eliot 
did  by  long  disquisitions  and  explanations  as  to  why  her 
characters  did  what  she  has  already  made  them  do,  or 
why  they  were  going  to  do  something  three  pages  off  in 
the  future.  Whenever  I  feared  you  were  going  to  glide 
into  this  easy  and  aggravating  thing,  I  found  myself 
enchantingly  relieved  by  some  happy  piece  of  objective 
representation.  There  was  one  place  however  where  you 
permitted  yourself  this,  and  where  you  weighted  your 
work  where  least  it  should  have  been  weighted.  It  is 
perhaps  an  impertinence  to  say  this,  but  I  will  modify 
the  impertinence  by  not  saying  where  it  was.  I  con- 
gratulate you  on   your   imagination,  on  your  power  of 

'  "  David  Grieve." 


"TAKE    TO   ENGLISH   POETRY"  407 

inventing  fresh  images  and  scenes  in  which  to  place 
your  characters  and  make  them  play  new  plays ;  and  on 
the  vividness  with  which  these  are  seen  and  described 
with  your  eye  upon  them.  Descriptions  of  scenery  by 
themselves  say  little,  but  when  they  are  woven  in  and 
out  with  human  passion,  when  the  passion  often  makes 
them,  composes  their  materials,  harmonizes  and  even 
creates  their  colour,  when  they  are  thus  calling  to  or 
echoing  humanity,  then  they  light  a  second  flame  in  a 
book,  and  I  don't  remember  one  of  your  descriptions 
which  is  not  half  the  heart  of  nature  and  half  the  heart 
of  man,  and  the  latter,  as  is  always  true,  dominates  by  a 
little  the  former.  One  of  the  best  of  all  is  where  Dora 
looks  out  of  her  window  over  Manchester  when  the 
evening  is  closing  in. 

"  I  think  I  have  a  great  deal  more  to  say,  but  I  cannot 
write  about  the  development  of  the  whole  book  and  about 
the  protagonists  until  I  have  seen  what  you  are  finally 
going  to  do  with  them.  Will  you  allow  me  to  wait  a 
little  longer  and  forgive  my  long  delay." 

To  Miss  Read. 

"  Brunnen.    Aug,  22,  '92. 

"...  I  am  much  rested  and  ever  so  much  better. 
The  air  is  clear,  the  light  brilliant  and  the  heat  great, 
all  things  that  I  love,  especially  the  last.  .  .  .  Heat 
makes  me  feel  younger  by  twenty  years.  I  was  born 
for  the  drier  tropics.  The  only  thing  I  should  dislike 
there  would  be  the  insects.  Lake,  mountains,  trees  and 
grass  and  flowers  are  all  lovely  in  this  place,  and  the  air 
is  delicate  and  lucid.  All  night  long  the  wind  blows  into 
the  bedroom,  warm  and  strong,  till  what  hair  age  has 
left  me  is  ruffled  on  the  pillow. 

"  As  to  literature,  take  to  English  Poetry.  It  will  be 
a  change  of  world ;  and  begin  at  the  beginning.  I  will 
ask  you  to  read  my  book  when  it  comes  out.  It  is  not 
a  task  I  should  impose  on  every  one,  but  then  you  will 
not  mind  reading  what  the  world  will  very  likely  call 
dull.    And  then  do  read  some  of  the  great  men  who  have 

VOL.  II.  E 


408    LETTERS  TO  VARIOUS  CORRESPONDENTS 

put  human  nature  to  music.  As  you  read  them  you  will 
begin  to  love  Art  for  its  own  sake,  and  after  Mathematics 
and  Moral  Science^  a  little  Beauty  will  open  new 
windows  in  your  soul. 

"  What  may  be  said  about  Religion  I  will  say  when 
I  see  you ;  but  it  is  in  a  more  universal  grasp  of  its 
ideas,  of  its  mother-ideas,  that  you,  with  your  training, 
will  find  the  best  ground  for  a  personal  religion.  I 
believe  that  the  particular  best  comes  to  many  persons 
through  the  universal.  It  is  through  my  conviction  of 
the  necessity  of  God  the  Father  for  nations  and  for  all 
the  community  of  Mankind,  that  I  best  arrive  at  my 
conviction  of  the  necessity  of  Him  for  myself.  Get  and 
read  Mazzini's  Duties  of  Man.  .  .  .  That  is  a  book  full 
of  great  thinking  and  deep  feeling,  and  it  will  not  be 
apart  from  but  accordant  with  your  Moral  Science,  and 
it  is  profoundly  religious." 

To  Miss  K.  Warren^ 

"  Axenfels.     August  28,  1892. 

"  .  .  .1  forget  all  about  the  *  Secrets  of  Life '  I 
remember  when  I  wrote  it  and  why  I  wrote  it,  but 
nothing  more;  and  I  don't  care  now  any  more  about 
the  Secrets  of  Life.  I'm  half  convinced  that  the  world 
would  be  a  better  one  to  live  in  if  we  were  unable  to 
have  any  secrets  at  all,  and  it  is  a  great  comfort  often 
to  me  to  think  that  there  is  One  who  knows  all  our 
secrets,  who  sees  everything  in  the  pure  light  of  abso- 
lute Love.  Were  we  really  quite  alone  with  ourselves, 
how  terrible  that  would  be  !  " 

To  Miss  K.  Warren. 

"  London.    February  15,  1893. 

"  I  have  never  said  that  every  pain  came  from  some 
sin  in  the  person  who  feels  the  pain.     How  could  I  say 

•  Miss  Read  was  at  Cambridge. 

-  Miss    Warren    rendered  him  great   assistance  in    his   work    on 
Early  English  Literature. 


LAW  AND  LOVE  409 

an3'thing  so  foolish  ?  The  greatest  amount  of  pain  in 
this  world  comes  from  the  wrong-doing  of  others  on  the 
innocent.  The  sulTering  of  Jesus  was  of  that  kind,  and 
the  suffering  of  those  that  follow  Love. 

"  Nor  will  pain  ever  cease  in  the  world  till  self-desire 
ceases.  Only  in  loss  of  self  is  joy.  That  is  the  Law. 
The  greater  part  of  the  world  say  only  in  gratification  of 
self  is  joy — that  is,  they  fight  against  Law.  When  will 
people  learn  to  be  scientific  in  religion  ?  All  joy  is  for 
them  if  they  will  obey  the  Law.  All  misery  is  for  them  if 
they  disobey  it.  And  as  Humanity  is  one  body,  those 
who  disobey  the  Law  not  only  suffer  themselves  but  make 
others  suffer  who  obey.  The  only  comfort  the  '  others ' 
have  here  on  earth,  in  these  circumstances,  is  that,  obeying 
Love,  they  have  inward  joy.  But  those  who  disobey  not 
only  corrupt  themselves  but  torture  others,  and  their 
guilt  is  twofold. 

"  Then  God  is  blamed.  I  don't  see  why.  There  is  the 
Law.  Is  He  to  change  it  to  make  men  happy,  as  they 
call  it  ?     If  so,  he  violates  Himself. 

"  Is  He  to  make  men  loving  by  omnipotent  force  ? 
Then  He  destroys  what  we  call  Humanity.  There  is  no 
longer  a  race  of  spirits  who  grow,  through  struggle, 
into  obedience  to  Law. 

"  He  cannot  do  either,  but  He  can  bring,  in  the  end,  all 
into  obedience  How  do  we  know  that  we  may  not  be  the 
great  object-lesson  of  the  Universe  ?  " 


To  Rev.  V.  D.  Dav 


IS. 


"  London.     June  5,  '93. 

"  I  do  not  agree  with  you  about  length  of  the  Hymns 
being  an  undesirable  thing.  If  necessar}'',  verses  can  be 
left  out,  but  that  is  not  my  point.  My  point  is  that  all 
the  Nonconformist  Clergy  are  thoroughly  mistaken,  and 
none  more  than  the  Unitarians,  in  making  their  hymns 
short.  I  deliberately  made  them  long.  I  believe  con- 
gregations like  long  hymns.  They  like  to  have  their 
part  in  the  service  ;  they  like  to  sing.  There  are  a 
number  of  old  conservative  fellows  in  every  congregation 


410    LETTERS  TO  VARIOUS  CORRESPONDENTS 

on  whom  the  Ministers  have  for  a  long  time  imposed  the 
notion  that  hymns  should  be  short,  and  who  if  you  give 
them  a  long  hymn,  make  a  noise  about  it.  But  the  mass 
of  people  who  come  to  Church  like  to  hear  their  own 
voices,  like  to  join  in  a  rush  of  song,  and  like  to  have  it 
long.  I  find  no  objection  made  to  ten  or  even  twelve 
verses  when  the  air  is  a  carrying  and  joyous  air.  Do 
you  know,  I  think  that  the  parson  occupies  too  much  of 
the  Service;  that  a  great  deal  more  should  be  handed 
over  to  the  congregation.  Where  there  is  no  Liturgy,  it 
is  worse  Half  my  service,  e.g.,  is  sung  by  the  congrega- 
tion while  I  am  silent,  but  in  Unitarian  and  other  Non- 
conformist Churches  the  clergyman  does  almost  all,  and 
the  congregation  almost  nothing.  It  is  one  of  the 
reasons  why  young  people  like  the  Church  of  England 
service  better.  Give  them  plenty  to  sing,  plenty  of 
Psalms,  Canticles  to  chant,  and  hymns  of  eight  verses 
instead  of  three  or  four,  and  you  will  soon  find  that  twice 
as  much  personal  interest  will  be  taken  in  the  service  and 
in  the  Chapel.  I  should  like  to  say,  if  it  did  not  sound 
impertinent,  that  the  whole  of  Unitarian  practice  in  this 
matter  is  wrong  The  Minister  is  too  much,  the  con- 
gregation too  little  in  the  Service." 

To  his  Mother. 

"  [London].    July  10,  '94. 

"...  It  is  pleasant  that  you  like  my  Tennyson.  I 
have  no  special  interest  in  speculative  theology  myself, 
but  I  was  forced  to  lay  clearly  before  the  public  what 
Tennyson's  speculations  were.  And  one  can  never  forbid 
the  world  to  speculate  on  what  has  not  been  revealed. 
What  will  happen  after  death  has  been  the  subject  of 
speculation  for  more  than  5000  years  and  will  continue 
to  be  for  more  than  5000  years  to  come.  That  we  shall 
live  in  God  is  clear,  but  hoiv,  no  one  knows.  It  doth  not 
yet  appear  what  we  shall  be ;  and  though  St  John  is 
satisfied  to  see  God  as  He  is,  and  though  I  am  satisfied 
also  therewith,  yet  you  cannot  stop  speculation  on  the 
whole  matter  :  moreover  there  are  all  that  vast  host  of 


"THE   SUBMISSION   BUSINESS"         411 

people  who  have  not  this  faith  when  they  die  What  is 
to  become  of  them  will  always  keep  the  world,  and  all 
those  who  believe  also,  in  a  constant  speculation.  My 
father  speculated  on  that  subject,  and  so  has  every  Saint 
of  Christ.  I  only  did  not  quote  those  lines  you  mention 
because  every  one  knew  them,  and  I  was  not  allowed  to 
quote  any  poem  in  full." 

To  Rev.  Arthur  Brooke. 

"  Boscombe.     October  13,  '94. 

"...  When  I  hear  of  folk  climbing  mountains  and 
flying  twenty  miles  an  hour  on  a  bicycle,  I  seem  to  listen 
to  tales  of  the  dwellers  on  another  planet,  so  long  have  I 
been  now  laid  by  from  all  exertion.  The  last  walk  I  took 
was  on  August  8,  and  it  was  a  crawl.  I'm  driven  now 
to  set  my  house  in  order.  The  doctors  say  I  must  not 
resume  work  for  at  least  six  months,  and  the  Chapel  is  to 
be  closed  certainly  till  May,  perhaps  till  October,  '95.  So 
many  plans  have  been  quieted.  I  was  afraid  it  would  be  so. 
I  felt  so  broken  down  in  July.  Disalitcr  visum,  and  I  do 
the  submission  business,  I  hope,  with  sufficient  fortitude. 
I  do  not  think  I  shall  ever  go  to  America  now.  They 
ought  to  have  asked  me  ten  years  ago.  Perhaps  I  shall 
go  abroad  for  the  winter,  but  the  loss  of  all  the  income 
derived  from  the  Chapel  is  so  serious  that  I  do  not  know 
what  can  be  managed. 

"  It  is  a  glorious  day.  I  am  lying  on  a  high  couch 
beside  the  window,  and  below  are  the  yellow  sandstone 
cliffs,  and  green  dells  running  down  to  the  strand  full  of 
heather,  furze  and  tall  heath,  and  fuller  still  of  shadows ; 
and  then,  the  wide  blue  sea,  joined  far  away  to  the  blue 
haze  of  the  sky.  Almost  a  summer  wind  flutters  in 
through  the  open  windows,  and  I  hear  the  wild  waves 
whist  upon  the  sand.  They  might  seem  wild  to  Ariel  or 
to  Titauia,  but  on  this  quiet  day  they  are  scarcely  more 
than  the  ripple  which  a  mountain  tarn  makes  on  its 
white  belt  of  pebbles.  The  houses  are  not  Italian,  but  the 
air  and  water,  and  their  colour  have  all  the  pleasure  of 
the  South." 


CHAPTER   XX 

HOME    LIFE 

"  I  feel  a  great  deal  the  parting  from  this  house  with  its  thousand 
associations  of  life  and  death  and  love." — (Letter  to  the  Hon,  Mrs 
Wingfield,  on  leaving  his  house  in  Manchester  Square,  March,  1914.) 

"  I  positively  refused  to  go  out  [in  London]  to-day.  .  .  .  Where  are 
the  cliffs  and  the  shining  sea  and  the  milky  way  with  long  lines  of  blue 
light  and  fire,  chalcedony  and  sapphire  ?  Where  is  the  gleam  and  con- 
solation of  the  grass  and  the  tufted  heather,  purple  amid  the  yellow 
gorse,  and  the  mossy  rocks,  worn  by  a  thousand  storms  and  coloured 
by  the  gnawing  of  the  sunlight  ?  Where  are  the  feeding  sheep  and  the 
geese  whose  conversation  amuses  me  so  much,  and  the  gossip  of  the 
gulls  and  the  staid  importance  of  the  cormorants,  philosophic  as  Kant, 
innocent  as  curates  ?  Where  is  the  joy  and  the  beauty  and  the  fresh- 
ness of  life  ?  Not  one  trace  left — dirt  and  devilment  only.  ...  At 
least  in  my  own  room  there  are  things  to  look  at  which  do  not  send 
shudders  of  horror  through  me  like  spasms  of  cholera." — (Diary, 
October  28,  1902.) 

"  I  have  no  patience  with  those  fathers  and  mothers  who  make 
of  their  children's  sense  of  duty  to  them  a  daily  scourge  for  the  backs 
of  their  children,  and  who  deliberately  forget  and  ignore  that  they 
have  a  duty  to  their  children.  Cannibals,  I  call  them,  who  live  on  the 
flesh  and  blood  of  their  own  offspring." — (Diary,  October  19,  1902.) 

There  is  a  familiar  distinction  between  living  in  a  house 
and  spending  one's  time  under  its  roof.  There  are 
many  houses,  large  and  well  appointed,  where,  strictly 
speaking,  the  inmates  do  not  live,  but  only  prepare  them- 
selves for  living  elsewhere,  repeating  the  process  when 
"elsewhere"  is  reached.  Such  "homes"  are  means  to 
ends  beyond  themselves,  points  of  departure,  bases  of 
operation,  inns,  shelters,  places  of  passage. 


HIS  HOME   IN   LONDON  413 

Brooke's  home  was  to  him  an  end  in  itseh.  "  No.  1, 
Manchester  Square,"  was  the  place  where  he  really  lived. 
I  do  not  mean  by  this  that  he  was  always  there.  On  the 
contrary,  he  was  restless,  loved  change  of  place,  disliked 
London,  was  away  from  it  for  months  every  year,  and 
finally  escaped  from  it  altogether.  I  mean  that  his 
house  and  his  household  provided  him  with  final  satis- 
factions of  many  kinds.  Indeed  it  were  as  true  to  say 
that  his  home  lived  in  him,  as  that  he  lived  in  his  home. 
It  was  a  truthful  expression  of  his  personality  and  a  part 
of  himself.  One  may  say  of  him  what  he  once  wrote  of 
Scott  and  Abbotsford,  "  his  spirit  streamed  into  every- 
thing and  everybody."  ^ 

Among  the  final  satisfactions  which  Brooke  found 
there  one,  and  perhaps  the  chief,  was  the  knowledge 
that  his  house  gave  pleasure  to  spirits  kindred  with  his 
own,  and  to  all  lovers  of  beauty.  "  Your  house,"  wrote 
Burne  Jones  in  1885,  "  is  one  where  I  am  always  happy, 
and  where  I  have  never  known  a  dull  moment." 

Had  a  stranger  been  suddenly  introduced  and  asked 
to  guess  the  calling  of  the  master  he  would  have  said 
"  artist "  immediately.  On  learning  that  he  was  a 
clergyman  the  stranger  might  have  experienced  a 
momentary  surprise.  But  there  would  have  been  no 
ultimate  incredulity.  With  a  little  patience  he  would 
have  found  the  true  perspective,  and  perhaps  read  much 
of  the  story  which  these  pages  have  endeavoured  to  tell. 
I  think  he  would  have  concluded  with  some  such  reflexion 
as  this  :  "  If  a  clergyman  is  to  be  also  an  artist  it  is  well 
that  he  should  be  the  kind  of  artist  which  the  contents 
of  this  house  reveal.  For  there  is  nothing  here  that  is 
not  excellent." 

Neither  comfort  nor  splendour   nor   possession  was 

'  Diary,  1894. 


414  HOME   LIFE 

the  keynote  of  "  No.  1."  The  keynote  was  art— and  that 
■with  the  meaning  the  word  has  for  the  artist.  Every 
room  in  the  house  was  adorned  with  imagery.  From 
the  ground  floor  to  the  fifth  story  there  was  hardly  a 
corner,  hardly  a  fragment  of  available  space  that  did  not 
contain  or  exhibit  some  beautiful  thing.  The  very  backs 
of  the  bedroom  doors  were  hung  with  pictures,  etchings 
of  Meryon,  or  copies  of  the  Liber  Studiorum;  and  Brooke, 
before  bidding  you  good  night,  would  hold  the  candle 
above  these  precious  things,  explain  how  the  etcher 
does  his  work,  or  show  you  the  secret  of  Turner's  skies. 
Noble  portraits  surrounded  your  bed,  bronze  Buddhas 
from  old  Japan  kept  watch  over  your  slumbers ;  you 
washed  your  face  in  porcelain  of  the  East,  shaved  in  a 
Venetian  mirror,  and  brought  to  the  breakfast-table 
questions  about  Giorgione  or  Tintoret. 

Pictures  confronted  you  everywhere,  not  in  the  rooms 
alone  but  in  the  passages  and  on  the  stairways.  There 
were  Costas,  Wilsons,  and  Legros  in  the  dining-room ; 
there  were  Turners  and  more  Costas  in  the  drawing- 
room;  there  were  Burne  Jones,  Gainsborough,  Blake, 
Inchbold  in  the  study.  In  the  hall  and  on  the  landings 
were  seascapes  and  landscapes,  drawings,  studies  by 
great  masters,  etchings,  engravings,  prints  innumerable. 
Every  room  had  its  scheme  of  colour,  the  hand  of 
William  Morris  being  much  in  evidence.  Every  piece 
of  furniture,  the  hangings,  the  carpets,  the  candelabra, 
the  chairs  and  tables  revealed  the  lover  of  fine  work- 
manship and  noble  colour. 

Brooke's  study  was  at  the  top  of  the  house,  perched, 
as  he  would  often  say,  "  like  an  eagle's  nest."  There, 
encompassed  but  not  overwhelmed  by  such  things  as  I 
have  described,  he  read,  wrote,  and  painted ;  or  received 
visitors,  at  all  hours  of  the  day,  with  a  lavish  prodigality 


"THE   EAGLE'S   NEST"  415 

of  time.  A  mass  of  flowers,  the  gifts  of  his  friends, 
always  surrounded  him ;  he  needed  their  company, 
he  said,  to  get  on  with  his  work.  Upon  the  table  and 
under  his  hand  lay  a  hundred  fairy  objects  in  silver  and 
gold,  tortoiseshell  or  bronze.  Bookcases  contended  with 
pictures  for  the  wall  space,  and  the  books  in  them  were 
preciously  bound.  His  bedroom,  hardly  distinguishable 
from  a  study,  adjoined.  If  you  were  a  night  visitor 
you  might  be  received  in  the  bedroom,  where  Brooke, 
reclining  among  the  mighty  pillows  of  his  sofa,  and 
smoking  the  most  aromatic  of  cigars — half  recovered,  it 
might  be,  from  a  long  illness — would  entertain  you  until 
the  small  hours  with  conversation  not  easily  forgotten. 
Of  talks  with  Brooke  in  his  study,  talks  both  grave  and 
gay,  I  have  innumerable  memories ;  but  the  happiest,  I 
had  almost  said  the  most  glorious,  of  these  nights  and 
banquets  of  the  gods,  were  those  passed  in  the  bedroom. 
I  recall  a  remark  made  to  me  by  one  of  his  visitors — a 
well-known  man  of  science — as  we  descended  the  stairs 
together  after  one  of  these  nights,  and  paused  from  time 
to  time  to  look  at  the  pictures  on  the  walls :  "  What  a 
wonderful  house  this  is !  But  Brooke  himself  is  so 
entertaining  that  he  leaves  you  no  leisure  to  study  his 
possessions." 

That  the  house  formed  an  artistic  whole  is  more  than 
I  would  venture  to  assert.  To  have  that  character  a 
house  must  be  built  for  the  purpose,  and  Brooke  had 
to  make  the  best  of  the  conditions  as  he  found  them. 
The  result  was  a  series  of  treasure  chambers  which 
owed  their  unity  with  one  another  to  the  fact  that  in 
each  of  them  there  was  a  reflection  of  his  personality, 
and  a  sure  witness  of  his  almost  infallible  good  taste. 
The  presence  of  so  much  that  was  beautiful  and  precious, 
it  must  be  confessed,  was  somewhat  confusing  to  the 


416  HOME   LIFE 

uninstructed.  One  felt  like  the  Queen  of  Sheba  at  the 
court  of  Solomon.  But  Brooke  himself  knew  each  one 
of  his  treasures,  and  loved  it  well.  On  every  wall,  at 
every  turn  and  step  of  the  long  ascent  which  led  to  his 
study,  there  was  something  which  gave  him  joy  to  linger 
over,  something  at  which  he  would  pause  and  engage  his 
visitor  in  delightful  conversation. 

As  a  collector  of  works  of  art  he  had  a  quality  which 
I  believe  is  not  common  in  that  class.  His  zeal  in 
gathering  these  things  about  him,  and  his  joy  in  possess- 
ing them,  was  equalled  by  his  delight  in  giving  them 
away.  His  generosity  knew  no  bounds.  Towards  the 
close  of  his  life  he  would  sometimes  amuse  himself  with 
the  idea  of  a  "  progress "  among  the  houses  of  his 
married  children  "  for  the  purpose  of  re-visiting  his  long 
lost  treasures  " — houses,  which  were  once  described  by 
one  who  knew  them  well,  as  "  Manchester  Square  in  the 
provinces."  These  visits  were  always  the  occasion  of  a 
little  drama.  His  first  act  on  arriving  was  to  make  a 
tour  of  the  house  for  the  purpose  of  inspecting  his 
former  gifts ;  which  done  he  would  roundly  charge  the 
recipient  with  having  stolen  them.  A  great  argument 
followed,  sometimes  protracted  for  days.  Brooke  would 
pose  as  Lear,  robbed  by  wicked  daughters,  and  weave 
innumerable  tragedies  out  of  his  deplorable  condition. 
A  further  gift  was  the  usual  form  of  reconciliation. 

Of  Brooke's  quality  as  a  host  the  following  passage 
will  bear  witness.  It  is  written  by  Sir  Frederick 
Wedmore,  who  was  a  frequent  guest  of  the  family  for 
many  years. 

"  I  do  not  know  what  claim  I  have  to  appraise  Stop- 
ford  Brooke's  qualities  or  characteristics  as  a  host — what 
claim,  I  mean,  that  is  not  shared  by  many  others,  surviv- 
ing like  myself  to  recollect  his  hospitality  in  the  late 


BROOKE   AS   HOST  417 

seventies  of  the  nineteenth  century,  while  having 
profited  as  much  by  his  exercise  of  that  engaging  virtue 
in,  roughly  speaking,  the  first  dozen  years  of  the 
twentieth.  Elsewhere  I  have  written  briefly  of  a 
famous  evening  in  which  Brooke  entertained  Tenny- 
son ;  ^  elsewhere  1  have  written  of  him  as  a  preacher,  the 
contemporary  of  Liddon,  almost  the  contemporary  of 
Maurice. 

"  The  absence  of  all  unrequired  formalities  was  a 
characteristic  of  the  Manchester  Square  dinner  parties  ; 
and  another  of  their  characteristics  was  the  diversity  of 
their  elements :  along  with  likely,  you  met  unlikely 
people — though  never  with  the  startling  abundance, 
with  the  rich  surprise,  experienced  at  Lord  Houghton's 
gatherings.  In  Manchester  Square  the  footing  of  famili- 
arity and  friendship  was  reached  with  great  promptitude, 
even  where  it  did  not  exist  from  the  first.  You  were 
there,  not  because  it  was  desirable  to  have  you,  but 
because  you  were  liked,  or,  it  may  be,  because  it  was 
sought  to  do  you  a  kindness  and  a  service.  The  fusion 
was  rapid.  Sometimes  it  had  magically  begun  even 
before  the  host's  arrival  upon  the  scene — his  arrival 
a  little  tardy  very  often,  and  so  just  pleasantly  apologetic. 
Sitting  down  together,  we  were,  from  the  very  first,  any- 
thing but  lugubrious.  Things  were  in  a  light  key. 
Brooke  had  on  his  right  hand,  or  on  his  left — or  pre- 
ferably upon  both — a  woman  whom  he  liked  :  a  woman 
generally  who  was  young.  The  late  Lady  Stanley  of 
Alderley  was  there  sometimes.  She  indeed  was  not 
young  in  years;  but  then  she  was  never  old  in  cha- 
racter. .  .  .  We  talked  of  animals,  and  of  what  animal 
this  or  that  person  reminded  us ;  and  one  of  us,  I  am 
sure,  was  a  donkey,  and  another,  I  am  sure,  was  a  seal. 
And  Stopford  Brooke  not  only  lightly  tolerated,  but  at 
times,  wickedly  encouraged  this  order  of  conversation — 
from  which,  with  deepening  voice,  he  would  in  a  minute 
suddenly  turn,  hearing  something  at  once  genial  and 
learned  from  the  present  Lord  Bryce ;  or,  seeing  that 

'   See      the     passage     in     Sir     Frederick     Wedmore's     volume, 
"  Memories,"  p.  48. 


418  HOME   LIFE 

the  eyes  of  a  younger  and  newer  guest  were  cast  curiously 
upon  the  walls,  he  desired  to  help  her  to  the  beginning 
of  an  appreciation  of  Costa,  the  Italian  landscape  painter, 
or  of  Legros,  that  then  little  understood  genius  from 
France — whose  canvases  afforded  a  dignified  and  stately 
background  to  the  cheerful  life  of  the  moment. 

"  Nobody  enjoyed  his  dinner  party  more  than  did 
Stopford  Brooke  himself.  With  nearly  every  one  he  was 
in  touch ;  and  to  be  in  touch  was  rendered  easier  some- 
times by  the  removal  of  the  rising  guests,  not  to  the 
drawing-room  at  all,  or  rather  only  there  on  the  way  to 
the  sanctum  sanctorum — the  study  on  the  fourth  floor. 
By  the  time  we  had  reached  that  eminence  everybody 
interested  in  everybody  else  was  talking  at  fullest  speed  and 
with  most  pronounced  interest.  And  when  *  Good  nights ' 
began  to  be  exchanged,  Stopford  Brooke— still  obviously 
the  youngest  and  freshest  of  the  party — began  to  be 
provided  with  a  grievance.  Here  was  a  chair,  a  cushion, 
another  cigarette.  Why  not  occupy  yet  awhile — it  was 
not  thus  far  midnight — why  not  occupy  a  place  by  the 
fire  and  go  on  talking  ? 

"  The  Church  was,  I  think,  the  profession  least  often 
and  least  thoroughly  represented  in  the  parties  in  Man- 
chester Square ;  though  it  may  be  that  the  appearance 
of  the  actor  on  that  scene  was  of  almost  equally  rare 
occurrence.  I  think  the  Stage  was  the  vocation  with 
which  our  host  had — amongst  specially  interesting  ones 
— the  least  of  natural  sympathy.  A  general  officer 
might  be  at  the  board — Brooke's  own  family  would  im- 
mediately furnish  more  than  one.  A  Judge  and  his 
wife — or  a  Judge  without  his  wife — would  be  heard  with 
grave  attention.  A  scientific  investigator,  a  brilliant 
consulting  physician,  was  in  his  proper  place.  But  as 
time  went  on,  Writers  and  Painters  showed  themselves 
in  greater  abundance ;  and — to  speak  of  earlier  days 
alone — I  have  seen,  not  assembled  together,  but  with 
Peeresses,  and  it  might  be,  women  novelists,  and  here 
and  there  a  Slade  student  sandwiched  in  between,  every 
then  living  leader  of  the  '  PreEaphaelite '  movement. 
One  met  now  Holman  Hunt,  now  William  Morris,  and 


LETTER  TO  A  CHILD  419 

now  Burne  Jones.  And  leaving  painting  and  design 
there  was  a  most  appreciative  fellow  student  of  life  in 
Henry  James." 

Brooke's  nature  was  profoundly  affectionate  ;  indeed 
he  lived  in  the  constant  interchange  of  affection.  His 
minor  acts  of  graciousness  and  love  were  done  with 
thought  and  imagination ;  he  gave  them  the  personal 
touch,  and  was  equally  delighted  whether  he  was  doing 
these  things  for  others,  or  whether  others  were  doing 
them  for  him.  None  of  his  letters  are  more  thoughtful 
or  tender  or  charming  or  faultlessly  expressed  than 
those  which  he  wrote  to  his  children  on  their  birthdays. 
All  children  indeed  were  his  natural  kinsfolk,  and  his 
fondness  for  them  increased  with  years.  To  a  small 
group  ^  which  he  greatly  loved  he  sent  only  a  few  months 
before  his  death  a  book  of  pressed  seaweed,  and  wrote  in 
it  the  following  verse — 

"  Dear  children,  here  I  send  you  flowers 
Pluckt  from  the  garden  of  sea-kings. 
The  great  and  noble  sea  is  full 
Of  these  delightful,  dainty  things." 

To  Mary  Howard} 

"  April  8,  '76. 

"  I  ought  to  have  written  before  this  to  thank  you  for 
your  very  pretty  letter.  I  was  so  glad  to  get  it,  and  I 
think  your  handwriting  charming.  Now  that  all  your 
governesses  are  gone,  you  and  Cecilia  and  Charley  must 
have  fine  times  of  it.  I  suppose  you  spend  all  day  long 
among  the  flowers  and  are  as  happy  as  fairies  in  a  dell 
of  ferns.  And  the  sun  has  made  you  as  brown  as  a 
berry,  I  hope,  and  I  am  sure  you  love  the  clear  blue  sky 
as  much  as  I  do.     We  have  had  a  dreadful  winter.     I 

'  They  wore  the  children  of  his  friend  Mr  William  Rothenstein, 
the  artist. 

•^  Daughter  of  the  Hon.  George  Howard,  now  Lady  Mary  Murray. 


420  HOME   LIFE 

may  say  we  never  had  any  daylight,  of  the  right  kind, 
for  some  months.  Often  when  Honor  used  to  come  to 
wake  me  in  the  morning  and  bid  me  get  up — I  opened 
my  eyes  lazily  and  said—*  Nonsense,  child,  it  is  night — 
why  are  you  up  ? — go  to  bed  again.'  But  I  was  obliged 
to  confess  that  it  ought  to  be  day  and  went  down  to 
breakfast  by  lamplight  as  cross  as  the  letter  X.  Have 
you  got  any  '  Possessions '  at  San  Kemo  ?  I  hope  so, 
and  that  you  and  I  will  take  a  long  walk  to  see  them, 
and  that  I  shall  hear  a  story  about  them  as  long  as  all 
tlie  miles  I  shall  travel  to  see  you.  If  you  have  made 
none,  you  and  I  will  have  to  make  some  for  ourselves, 
and  we  shall  be  in  the  very  middle  of  a  tumbling  stream 
into  which  I  shall  carry  you,  if  you  have  not  grown  far 
too  heavy.  Don't  think  we  are  quite  without  flowers 
here.  My  room  is  like  a  greenhouse.  Blue  periwinkles, 
brown  ivy,  crimson  rhododendrons,  masses  of  daffodils 
from  Westmoreland,  primroses  from  Devonshire,  violets 
wet  with  this  morning's  rain,  cover  all  my  tables.  The 
spring  sun  is  shining  in  upon  them,  but  it  will  rain 
before  night,  a  soft,  rich  rain  which  will  make  all  the 
buds  on  the  trees  that  are  just  ready  to  burst  into  life, 
open  their  green  gates,  and  issue  forth  like  people  from 
a  long  besieged  city,  dancing  and  singing  for  joy.  I  am 
so  happy  that  spring  has  come  at  last,  so  glad,  and  so 
well  in  my  heart,  that,  monstrously  old  as  I  am,  with 
grey  hairs  most  impertinently  coming  on  my  head,  I  feel 
like  a  little  child.  That  will  seem  very  odd  to  you,  and 
you  will  laugh,  but  then  you  know,  though  children 
cannot  feel  old,  old  people  can  feel  young  at  times  when 
the  world  is  very  pretty.  The  children  are  all  gone  to 
the  North,  and  seem  very  well,  but  Stopford,  whom  you 
scarcely  know,  has  got  a  bad  sore  throat,  and  is  going  to 
be  laid  up,  I  am  afraid,  for  a  week  or  so.  It  is  so  stupid, 
children  being  ill,  do  you  not  think  so  ?  I  think  it  was 
a  good  plan  that  was  carried  out  in  that  world  under  the 
earth,  where  the  only  crime  which  was  subject  to  severe 
punishment  was  the  crime  of  getting  ill.  ...  I  hope  you 
are  not  going  away  before  I  come.  I  shall  be  very  much 
disappointed  if  I  do  not  see  you,  and  I  expect  to  find  you 


CANDOUR  IN   THE   HOME  421 

as  tall  as  my  shoulders  and  with  a  rosy  colour  in  your 
cheeks  which  the  sun  who  loves  little  girls  gives  to  them 
as  one  of  his  prettiest  gifts.  Tell  Cecilia  not  to  forget 
me  quite,  and  I  hope  Charley  is  bold  and  happy.  I  wish 
I  were  now  at  this  moment  with  you  all.  I  should  like 
to  get  into  the  fork  of  an  olive  and  fall  asleep." 

Ten  years  later  he  wrote  to  the  same  correspondent : — 

"6  Jan.  '85. 

"  I  have  been  too  ill  to  answer  before  this  your  letter 
which  gave  me  so  much  pleasure.  I  was  glad  to  be 
remembered  by  you,  and  I  am  full  of  thanks  to  you  for 
your  good  wishes  for  my  happiness  during  this  year. 
There  is  but  little  need  for  me  to  wish  you  joy.  You 
know  how  much  I  desire  that  you  should  possess  and 
value  all  the  fine  and  noble  joys  of  life,  yet  at  this  time, 
it  is  pleasant  to  say  so  in  speech,  and  to  mark  the  year 
by  expression  of  long  and  aft'ectionate  regard.  How  glad 
I  am  that  you  are  young,  that  you  have  so  much  before 
you,  so  much  good,  use,  faith,  hope  and  love,  so  much 
beauty  to  admire  and  love,  so  much  fine  doing  and  fine 
work  to  admire  in  others  and  to  honour.  And  every 
year  I  hope  you  will  have  more  and  more  of  those 
inward  powers  which  will  enable  you  to  reverence  and 
love  more,  things  worthy  of  reverence  and  love.  For 
that  is  the  secret  of  life." 

In  the  midst  of  the  family  his  self-communication 
was  open,  eager,  spontaneous,  and  the  effect  of  this  was 
that  candour  and  mutual  trust  became  the  operative  law 
of  his  household.  No  head  of  a  family  ever  wielded  a 
greater  authority  under  his  own  roof;  and  yet  it  was 
authority  grounded  on  reciprocal  affection,  and  the  word 
of  command  was  seldom  heard.  The  independence  of 
character  which  enabled  him  to  go  his  own  way  when 
the  opinion  of  the  world  was  in  question  had  its  reverse 
side  in  his  domestic  Hfe.  His  children  depended  on  his 
love,  but,  equally,  he  depended  on   theirs.     He  craved 


422  HOME   LIFE 

for  the  support  of  loyal  hearts,  for  sympathetic  under- 
standing, for  the  answering  look,  word  or  deed.  And 
throughout  his  life  he  was  singularly  fortunate  in  having 
those  about  him  who  gave  his  nature  all  that  it  needed 
of  these  things. 

As  one  by  one  his  daughters  grew  into  womanhood 
they  became  his  close  companions.  The  relation  between 
them  and  their  father  was  one  of  friendship,  not  un- 
tinged  with  romance.  They  shared  his  interests,  helped 
him  in  his  work,  ministered  to  him  in  sickness,  accom- 
panied him  in  his  travels,  and  acted  their  part  in  his 
pranks.  Many  pictures  of  this  relationship  survive  in 
the  family  legends,  and  I  will  try  to  catch  one  or  two 
of  the  lighter  order. 

The  family  pew  in  St  James'  Chapel,  was  in  the 
gallery,  so  close  to  the  pulpit  that  a  daring  hand 
could  touch  the  preacher.  It  was  Brooke's  custom,  on 
concluding  his  sermon  to  look  round  and  bestow  a  smile 
on  the  row  of  faces  that  topped  the  edge  of  the  pew. 
But  one  day,  being  excited  with  his  peroration,  he  forgot 
to  give  the  usual  salute.  This  omission,  in  the  opinion 
of  one  of  the  little  people,  was  an  offence  that  needed  a 
sharp  reminder ;  so,  to  the  immense  astonishment  of 
the  congregation,  she  reached  over  the  edge  of  the 
gallery,  laid  violent  hands  on  her  father's  waving  hair, 
and  did  not  let  go  till  she  had  compelled  him  to  do  his 
duty. 

About  this  daughter  Brooke  had  the  whim  to  write 
a  myth  full  of  strange  adventures  in  some  antenatal 
world.  I  will  not  attempt  to  summarize  the  story;  it 
lies  before  me  in  a  series  of  letters  that  cover  several 
years,  a  charming  piece  of  fancy,  and  a  curious  witness 
of  the  tendency  of  Brooke's  imagination  to  play  with  the 
elements  of  things. 


THE   SPIEIT   OF   THE   HOME  423 

There  is  also  a  picture  of  a  later  time,  which  shows 
Brooke  walking  the  West  End  with  another  daughter, 
then  grown  up,  with  whom  he  had  made  a  compact  to 
act  "  the  Seven  Ages  of  Man,"  as  they  went  along  the 
streets,  and  to  finish  the  show  before  arriving  at  their 
destination,  that  "the  Londoners  might  at  last  have 
the  benefit  of  some  really  good  Shakespearean  acting." 
Their  destination  was  the  house  of  John  Richard  Green. 
Great  was  the  amazement  of  the  passers-by  at  the  suc- 
cessive stages  of  the  performance,  especially  when  they 
recognized  the  performers,  and  greater  still  was  the 
amazement  of  the  celebrated  historian  when  the  twain 
burst  in  upon  him  with  the  cry,  "  Here  we  are.  Green, 
sans  eyes,  sans  teeth,  sans  taste,  sans  everything."  Such 
were  the  fringes  of  a  relationship  whose  essential  nature 
was  mutual  devotion,  trust  and  love. 

With  all  his  tenderness  Brooke  was  the  least 
anxious  of  parents.  He  never  worried  himself  about 
the  characters  or  the  education  of  his  children,  and 
interfered  with  them  singularly  little.  He  was  the  polar 
opposite  to  the  type  of  parent  who  grounds  his  pro- 
ceedings on  "  Child-study,"  arranges  an  elaborate  scheme 
of  influence,  and  stands  guard  over  every  idea  or  interest 
that  enters  the  young  mind.  Not  only  was  he  too  busy 
to  bother  himself  with  such  things,  but  he  was  inclined 
to  regard  these  methods  as  mistaken,  even  pernicious. 
Being  himself  a  child  at  heart  he  probably  knew  more 
about  children  than  any  text-book  on  the  subject  could 
teach  him.  He  believed  that  children  are  naturally 
quick  in  penetrating  the  secret  of  any  "  system "  on 
which  they  are  being  educated,  and  apt  to  play  tricks 
with  the  discovery  behind  the  backs  of  their  educators. 
For  the  rest,  he  relied  on  the  general  happiness  of  the 
home,    which    had    a    radiating    centre    in    his    own 

VOL.  II.  p 


424  HOME   LIFE 

personality.  On  the  whole,  his  method,  if  it  may  be  called 
a  method,  was  successful,  and  he  lived  to  see  its  success. 
It  reduced  the  friction  incident  to  a  large  family  to  the 
vanishing  point,  and  kept  his  children  closely  united  to 
one  another  and  to  himself.  It  left  them  free  to  develop 
their  own  individualities,  to  form  their  own  friendships, 
make  their  own  marriages,  do  their  own  work ;  which 
they  did  without  aberration  from  the  spirit  which 
governed  the  home  in  which  they  had  been  nurtured. 
There  were,  of  course,  some  disadvantages ; ,  for  when 
dealing  with  human  beings  one  cannot  practice  laissez 
/aire  beyond  a  certain  point  without  leaving  some  tangled 
edges  for  other  people  to  gather  up.  With  Brooke,  how- 
ever, all  these  things  seemed  to  arrange  themselves 
automatically.  He  continued  to  the  end  rejoicing  in  his 
children,  as  his  children  rejoiced  in  him. 

There  is  an  interesting  reference  to  these  matters 
in  a  letter  written  to  J.  R.  Green  from  Naworth  in  1870. 
Among  the  guests  staying  at  the  Castle  were  one  or  two 
typical  specimens  of  the  Mid- Victorian  Radical,  who  had 
been  expounding  to  him  "  somewhat  heavily "  their 
views  of  Education. 


To  J.  E.  Green. 

"  Naworth.     1870. 

"  The  worst  of  these  new  atheists  is  that  they  are  so 
utterly  convinced  that  the  world  needs  much  tinkering 
that  tiiey  can't  let  the  old  thing  alone  a  moment.  Now, 
the  belief  in  God  at  least  saves  one  from  that.  One  can 
laugh  a  little  when  one  knows  that  all  things  are  being 
looked  after  by  a  wise  Person ;  and  were  it  not  for  an 
atrocious  paradox  I  can  say  that  one  can  sin  with  a  little 
comfort  when  one  believes  in  a  Father.  You  won't 
mistake  me. 

"  But  it  is  quite  too  bad  that  they  can't  let  us  alone 
a  little;  that  women  must  be  taught   to  meddle  with 


ON   TRAINING   CHILDREN  425 

things  ive  don't  care  to  touch ;  that  the  unfortunate 
children  should  have  all  their  education  planned  out  for 
them,  so  that  the  utmost  possible  amount  of  knowledge 
should  be  rammed,  crammed,  and  damned  into  their 
brains,  till  it  is  like  the  great  gun  of  Athlone,  ready  to 
burst  at  the  first  touch  of  passion  into  madness— instead 
of  letting  the  poor  little  things  grow  like  flowers  and 
find  out  a  little  where  they  are,  and  what  sort  of 
character  they  have  and  what  they  would  like  to  learn, 
and  be  something  of  the  wild  briar  rose,  before  they 
settle  down  into  the  Standard  Rose  in  the  grassy  alley 
of  the  trim  garden.  But  you  see,  dear  boy,  not  being 
immortal  in  these  persons'  minds,  the  poor  children  have 
only  a  short  time  to  do  good  to  Humanity,  and  must  be 
crammed  for  that,  and  only  a  short  time  to  suck  in  the 
honey  of  Past  Knowledge  and  enjoy  it — wherefore  every- 
body must  be  so  villainously  hurried  ;  and  we  shall  soon, 
if  these  Philosophers  win  the  day,  have  a  nation  of 
Grant  DujBfs,  and  Mrs  Grotes,  married  in  and  out  with 
Congreves  and  Mrs  Peter  Taylors ;  and  then  Humanity, 
having  reached  its  acme,  will  subside  into  the  nothing- 
ness from  which  it  came — and  a  good  riddance  it  will  be, 
I  say !  But,  as  I  have  a  notion  that  Honor  and  Maud 
and  Stopford  will  go  on  for  ever,  and  have  lots  of  time 
to  learn  and  do  good  to  others,  I  don't  intend  to  hurry 
them,  nor  to  cast  them  in  a  formal  mould,  but  to  let 
them  grow  by  '  their  own  divine  vitality.'     It  is  funny 

to  meet who  is  modern  to  the  finger  tips,  here  at 

Naworth,  where  the  whole  sentiment  of  the  place  is  of 
the  Past.  Every  minute  I  am  hit  by  this  incongruity, 
and  no  amount  of  enthusiasm  on  his  part  for  the  things 
which  belong  to  Romance  seems  to  be  real,  though  I 
suppose  it  is.  One  detects,  at  least  so  one  fancies,  the 
note  of  self-education." 


CHAPTER  XXI 

LETTERS    TO    HIS    DAUGHTERS 

1882-1896 

"  We  arc  sent  into  the  world  to  communicate  with  oiu"  fellows. 
And  silence  is  generally  sulks." — (Diary,  December  9,  1901.) 

To  V. 

"Brunnen,     1884  [?]. 

"...  We  spend  our  time  here  in  braving  the 
elements,  and  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  they  don't  seem  to 
mind.  They  continue  doing  as  they  hke,  and  what  they 
hke  is  sulks  and  passion,  and  tears,  and  blowing  up. 
All  our  feigned  indifference,  all  our  stately  airs  are  lost 
upon  them.  The  snow  is  as  low  as  it  can  be,  and  the 
clouds  more  mean  than  I  can  say.  They  will  let  us  have 
no  fun  with  the  mountain  peaks.  Even  the  lake  objects 
to  the  goings  on  above,  if  I  may  judge  from  the  vain  and 
petulant  way  in  which  it  is  continually  beating  the  beach. 
Once  this  morning  the  sun  appeared,  but  on  seeing  the 
state  of  things  below  retired  in  haught}-,  but  too  swift, 
disgust.  This  made  me  ill ;  and  headache  began.  As 
you  know  well,  all  my  headaches  are  caused,  at  first 
hand,  by  moral  distress  at  the  way  Nature  conducts  her- 
self. In  London  I  get  accustomed  to  her  bad  conduct, 
and  there  is  great  excuse  for  her  there,  but  here  I  cannot 
bear  it,  and  I  wish  she  would  take  a  pew  in  Bedford 
Chapel.  I  would  devote  a  course  of  discourses  to  her 
improvement." 


VENICE   AND  LONDON  427 

To  S. 

"  [Londou].  May,  '85. 
"...  This  is  to  reach  you  on  your  birthday,  and  to 
welcome  you  to  another  year  of  Hfe.  May  every  year 
see  your  heart  brighter,  your  spirit  nearer  to  God,  and 
your  hfe  more  loving  to  others.  There  is  but  one  thing 
in  this  world  to  aim  at — it  is  self-forgetfuluess ;  and  the 
only  passage  to  it  is  Love.  With  it  comes  Joy  and 
Peace  and  Power.  It  is  a  long  battle  to  get  it,  but  my 
prayer  for  you  is  that  every  birthday  you  may  attain 
a  greater  measure  of  it. — Good-bye,  my  little  friend, 
remember  me." 

To  E. 

"  Venice.     Oct.,  '85. 

"  The  inclemency  of  the  weather,  actually  three  days 
without  the  sun— and  a  dirty  sky  prevailing,  which  makes 
Venice  look  like  a  bad  photograph,  and  a  kind  of  cold 
which  seems  to  threaten  me  but  which  has  not  quite 
declared  itself,  compels  me  to  remain  at  home,  and  I  am 
sitting  close  to  a  blazing  wood  fire  at  10  a.m.,  beginning 
to  leel  as  if  life  were  going  to  be  bearable.  If  I  feel  thus 
broken  by  two  days  of  cold  and  rain  here  where  we  still 
have  flowers  growing  in  the  open  air,  verbenas  and  carna- 
tions and  oleanders  adorn  our  table ;  if  these  things  are 
done  in  the  green  tree  of  Venice  what  will  happen  in  the 
dry  tree  of  London,  when  the  long  months  will  crawl  by 
like  serpents,  and  the  sun  never  appear,  and  the  rain 
and  frost  and  wind  fight  for  the  palm  of  disagreeability  ? 
I  do  not  know.  It  is  often  more  than  a  mortal  can  bear. 
Those  angels  who  have  wing.-,  and  I  pre^<ume  can  fly  as 
fast  as  a  swallow,  have  great  privileges.  I  never  wish, 
like  the  Psalmist,  to  fly  away  and  be  at  rest.  To  be 
at  rest  is  not  an  enviable  thing.  I  want  to  fly  away  and 
be  in  the  sun,  and  there  one  can  rest  or  work  just 
as  one  likes.  Where  the  sunlight  is,  all  things  within 
and  without  are  right.  But  what  can  be  done,  by  me  at 
least,  when  the  smallest  cold  freezes  the  brain,  and  bids 
the  blood  creep  instead  of  dance,  except  to  drive  the 


428  LETTERS   TO   HIS   DAUGHTERS 

body  and  soul  to  work  as  a  slave  driver  does  his  slaves. 
And  that  is  what  it  is  for  eight  months  at  least  in  the 
year  in  London." 

To  0. 

"Venice.     Oct., '85. 

"...  Better  weather  to-day,  but  not  warm  enough. 
We  have  fires  every  day ;  and  though  there  is  generally 
a  half  hour  of  great  beauty  about  four  o'clock,  it  is  very 
fleeting,  unlike  those  glowing  sunsets  we  had  when  first 
we  came,  the  light  of  which  lingered  in  the  sky  till  nine 
at  night.  Still,  what  there  is,  has  its  own  quality  of 
cold  pensiveness,  and  of  colour  which,  if  it  has  no 
glow,  seems  to  have  its  special  sentiment,  the  sentiment 
of  hurrried  departure.  '  Life  is  over,  let  the  end  be 
swift.'  Grays,  pale  yellows,  blues  with  so  deep  a  tinge 
of  green  that  they  are  almost  green,  scarcely  any  rose 
colour,  and  rapid  fading  of  them  all  into  dark — these  are 
the  tints.  .  .  .  But  now  one  has  to  search  for  finer 
beauty,  a  month  ago  it  was  everywhere  in  abundance, 
and  that  is  what  I  like.  If  I  had  shoals  of  loveliness,  I 
should  never  feel  satiety.  .  .  . 

"  I  have  just  lunched,  which  is  a  bore,  and  I  wish  all 
eating  were  needless.  It  is  no  use  eating  a  little,  it  is  all 
the  same,  it  is  the  greatest  trouble  in  life  ;  except  death, 
there  is  nothing  so  stupid  and  odious  as  food,  and  the 
only  reason  one  eats  is  that  death  is  still  more  disgusting." 

To  V. 

"  Ohagford.     May,  '86. 

"...  I  am  told  you  all  want  to  go  to  Faust.  By  all 
means,  if  you  -read  the  play,  you  may  as  well  see  it,  but 
how,  having  read  '  Goethe,'  you  can  go  to  hear  Wills 
making  a  travesty  of  him,  I  can't  understand.  I  would 
as  soon  go  and  hear  Dryden's  rifacimento  of  the  Tempest, 
or  the  operetta  he  made  out  of  Paradise  Lost.  How- 
ever, go — but  don't  expect  me  to  sympathise  with  bad 
art,  and  tell  me  nothing  about  it.  If  I  abominate  any- 
thing with  all  my  heart,  it  is  the  mere  spectacular 
drama. 


SORRENTO  429 

"  I  am  glad  you  have  all  joined  the  S.  Society.  The 
one  thing  all  you  children  want  is  to  be  forced  to  take 
the  trouble  of  writing  down  what  you  feel  or  think 
clearly, — of  expression.  It  takes  a  deal  of  trouble,  and 
whether  in  talk  or  writing  every  one  is  lazy  about  taking 
that  trouble.  It  is  the  most  odious  of  lazinesses,  and 
the  longest  to  overcome.  But  if  we  are  to  be  worth  a 
halfpenny  in  Ufe,  we  mu-^t  do  it.  We  are  not  here  to 
amuse  ourselves,  but  to  amuse  others.  Nor  shall  we  ever 
really  amuse  ourselves  except  through  amusing  others." 

To  S. 

"  In  a  grove  of  stone  pines,  near  Sorrento.    1886. 

"  This  is  far  the  prettiest,  loneliest,  most  pensive 
spot  I  have  been  in  during  my  whole  journey,  and  I 
have  been  suddenly  impelled  to  write  to  you.  I  owe 
you  an  answer  to  your  charming  letter,  and  I  could  not 
answer  it  in  a  more  charming  place.  Just  fancy  a  deep 
hollow  in  the  hill,  the  bottom  of  which  is  flat  and 
covered  with  grass,  and  on  either  side  a  high  bank  of 
rocks  and  grass  and  flowers  with  little  oak  trees  growing, 
and  at  the  back  an  orchard  of  apples,  and  then  terraces 
filled  with  olives  rising  out  of  sight,  and  in  front,  seen 
through  the  opening  of  the  hollow,  the  blue  sea  and  the 
island  of  Capri  lying  in  it  like  a  great  rock  of  lapis 
lazuli,  and  beyond,  a  cape  stretching  into  the  sea  crowned 
with  a  tower.  Then,  place  in  the  midst  of  the  flat 
meadow  twelve  huge,  gray-stemmed,  lofty  stone  pines, 
spreading  out  their  green  tops  like  umbrellas  and 
softly  moving  in  the  blue  air,  but  only  moving  a  I'ttle, 
so  great  are  they.  And  then  fill  the  whole  space  brim 
full  of  silence  and  warm  peace— and  you  may  perhaps 
see,  if  you  imagine  a  great  deal,  where  I  am  now  lying 
under  the  shadow  of  a  rock  It  is  a  wonderful  country. 
The  hotel  is  built  on  the  very  edge  of  a  cliff  a  hundred 
feet  high,  and  I  could  drop  a  stone  from  the  balcony 
where  I  sit  into  the  blue  sea  below.  These  cliffs,  of 
gray  limestone,  wind  in  and  out  along  the  coast  and  the 
waters  come  up  to  their  very  base.     From  their  top  the 


430  LETTERS   TO  HIS  DAUGHTERS 

country  slopes  upwards  between  two  great  spurs  of 
mountain,  and  is  filled  to  the  brim  with  fig  trees  and 
orange  gardens  and  lemon  trees  and  vines  and  olives 
and  chestnuts,  and  among  this  rich  green  and  gray 
vegetation  are  hundreds  of  white  villas  gleaming  in  the 
sun.  Blue  islands  lie  in  the  blue  sea,  and  tiny  white- 
sailed  boats  flit  to  and  fro  over  it.  Far  away  Naples 
glitters — a  long  line  of  houses  that  shine  like  silver. 
And  over  the  bay  rises  Mount  Vesuvius  pouring  out  of 
its  highest  point  volumes  of  white  vapour  which  stream 
from  it  into  the  blue  sky  like  a  great  flag,  and  at  night 
the  flames  seem  to  rise  high  into  the  sky.  Would  you 
not  like  to  be  here  ?  I  wish  you  were,  and  all  the  rest, 
and  that  we  could  stay  six  months,  and  roam  about  the 
hills  all  day.  For  though  we  have  thunderstorms  and 
heavy  rain,  these  things  are  like  short  fits  of  temper — 
soon  over — and  then  there  is  glorious  sunshine.  Honor 
and  I  to-day  stood  sheltering  under  a  gateway  for  an 
hour  in  a  torrent  of  rain,  and  listening  to  the  growling 
and  shattering  of  the  thunder,  but  it  all  blew  away  in 
the  end,  and  we  had  a  lovely  walk  of  four  hours  in 
lovely  weather.  I  shall  be  sorry  to  be  in  the  fogs  of 
London  again.  I  suppose  you  have  all  got  back  now, 
and  are  trying  to  live  in  darkness.  Poor  little  folk  ! 
and  poor  me  who  must  leave  this  Paradise.  But  then 
Paradise  is  not  work,  and  we  must  all  do  what  we  can 
where  we  live,  not  where  we  wish  to  live." 

ToM. 

"  London.    July,  '86. 

"...  The  political  meeting  ^  was  very  amusing.  A 
long  riding  school,  covered  with  tan,  and  about  2000 
people  in  it,  for  the  most  part  working  men.  I  was  in  the 
chair  and  opened  the  meeting  with  a  speech  of  twenty- 
five  minutes.  I  was  shy  when  I  began,  but,  once  I  felt 
the  excitement  of  the  crowd,  as  usual  I  felt  as  if  I  were 
born  to  speak  to  them  and  they  to  listen.  The  cheers 
and  groans  were  most  refreshing  to  one  who  is  always 

'  A  meeting  iu  support  of    the  Liberal  candidate  (Trower)  for 
Marylebone. 


A  POLITICAL   MEETING  431 

accustomed  to  speak  to  silent  audiences.  It  is  twice  as 
easy  to  speak  to  an  excited  meeting  as  it  is  from  the 
pulpit.  And  extemporary  speaking  is  a  mere  joke,  so 
facile  is  it,  when  there  are  interruptions.  Every  inter- 
ruption excites  and  supplies  the  speaker  with  new 
matter.  So  I  got  on  very  well,  and  was  perfectly  at  my 
ease.  .  .  . 

"  I  voted  for  Trower  to-day,  but  I  am  afraid  he  has 
but  little  chance.  I  snatch  this  moment  to  write  to  you, 
because  to-morrow  will  have  to  be  entirely  given  up  to 
*  Keats.'  Life  is  funny — hot  pohtics  one  day  and  the 
next  Endymion  and  the  Ode  to  a  Nightingale.  I 
preached  last  night  on  Home  Eule,  and  have  sent  it  to 
Barry  O'Brien  on  the  chance  of  his  liking  it." 

To  V. 

"  Venice.     Sept.,  '86. 

"...  Oh  the  pleasure  of  being  away  from  London, 
from  its  vileness  and  its  darkness.  I  would  never  put 
my  foot  into  it  again,  if  I  could  possibly  help  it.  But 
such  is  the  force  of  duty  that  it  even  compels  me  to  do 
that  which  I  most  abhor  in  life.  I  hope  you  recognize 
the  splendid  nobility  of  your  Father's  conduct !  !  When 
I  contemplate  myself  I  seem  to  contemplate  a  very 
pyramid.  Alas  !  no  one  sees  it  but  myself ;  and  I'm  not 
always  sure  of  it.  Were  it  really  then  self-sacrifice, 
should  I  not  be  certain,  or  is  it  all  the  more  truly  sacri- 
fice when  I  am  unconscious  of  it  ?  These  are  questions 
which  no  doubt  you  will  deeply  consider,  and  I  wish  you 
well  out  of  them." 

ToE. 

"  Venice.     Sept.  22,  '86. 

"  How  good  of  you  to  write  to  me  again,  before  I  had 
replied  to  your  last  letter.  Some  way  or  other,  life  slips 
on  here  unregarded.  I  do  but  little,  move  and  breathe 
and  eat  and  read  a  little,  and  that  is  all.  The  sweetness 
of  idleness  is  on  me,  but  before  long  I  expect  to  feel  its 
bitterness.  Well,  the  remedy  of  that  bitterness  is  always 
at  hand,  and  I  do  not  think  I  should  ever  feel  it  a  hard 


432    LETTERS  TO  HIS  DAUGHTERS 

dose  to  work,  if  only  I  lived  in  a  country  where  the  sun 
shone,  and  the  winds  were  sweet  This  morning,  here, 
near  the  end  of  September,  the  sky  is  blue,  pale  white 
clouds  like  islands  in  it ;  and  the  wind  is  sweet  and  soft 
and  pure,  one  breath  of  it  is  worth  all  the  best  efforts 
of  the  west  wind  in  London  to  overcome  the  stench  of 
England.  May  God  forgive,  for  I  will  not,  the  manu- 
facturers and  the  scientific  men  who  have  ruined  the 
country.  They  are  doing  now  their  level  best  to  destroy 
Venice,  and  to  destroy  Italy,  and  before  long  they  will 
succeed.  I  wish  the  whole  world  were  quit  of  them  all, 
and  of  all  the  professions  as  well.  The  very  instant 
man  arrives  at  any  knowledge  which  can  be  formulated, 
that  moment  his  civilisation  begins  to  decay,  and  he  is 
getting  nearer  to  the  realms  of  intellectual  and  spiritual 
death.  Finally,  he  reaches  them,  and  then  we  have  the 
condition  of  France  and  England  and  Italy  and  the  rest. 
They  call  this  condition  the  height  of  civilisation,  just  as 
the  man  on  the  verge  of  delirium  tremens  says  — '  This 
is  pleasure,  this  is  life.'  How  odious  it  all  is,  how  I 
hate  it ! " 


To  M. 

"London.    Jan., '88. 

"...  I  can't  get  the  latter  part  of  the  Poems  ^  done. 
There  are  two  verses  which  are  like  two  rocks  at  the 
entrance  of  the  harbours  of  Peace.  I  can't  get  rid  of 
them,  I  can't  circumvent  them,  I  can't  rebuild  them,  I 
can't  do  nothing  with  them.  Only  the  double  negative 
can  express  my  utter  and  lamentable  confusion.  It  is 
London  that  has  gone  mad  within  me.  The  Irish  ques- 
tion, the  Socialist  question,  the  new  paper,  The  Star, 
the  Education  question,  Balfour,  and  the  Pall  Mall,  the 
approaching  war  and  the  acts  of  Peace,  Huxley's  last 
article,  and  Mat.  Arnold's  last  folly,  the  mud  in  the 
streets  and  the  cheating  of  the  Vestries — how  is  a  man, 
involved  in  all  this  galimatias  of  meanness  and  useless- 
ness,  to  get  even  one  verse  done  ?  " 

»  His  volume,  "  Poems,"  1888. 


DAUGHTER  AND   FRIEND  433 

To  M. 

"  London.     May,  '88. 

"  Your  last  letter  came  yesterday,  and  I  was  more 
charmed  than  ever  by  you.  It  was  a  delightful  letter, 
full  of  yourself,  and  therefore  full  of  interest  to  me.  I 
was  glad,  very  glad,  that  you  gave  me  that  long  account 
of  your  inner  life.  No  happiness  can  be  greater  to  a 
father  than  that  which  he  has  when  his  children  trust 
him  with  their  life.  Moreover  this  confidence  while  it 
leaves  him  his  fatherhood,  adds  to  it  all  the  pleasure 
of  friendship,  of  a  friendship  full  of  love.  I  knew  I  had 
that  from  you,  and  that  I  had  given  it  to  you,  long  ago 
— for  we  have  often  felt  at  one  in  long  walks,  and  in  life 
together,  but  it  is  joyful  to  have  fresh  proof  of  it.  So, 
dear,  I  was  glad.  And  I  am  glad  of  all  you  say — glad 
that  all  life  is  brighter,  and  glad  of  the  reason  of  it.  It 
is  the  true  foundation  you  have  found — to  trust  God — 
and  because  you  know  He  will  look  after  you,  to  forget 
yourself,  and  to  give  yourself  away  to  make  others 
happy.  That  is  the  thing  which  adds  a  glory  to  all 
youth,  and  spiritualizes  all  its  joy.  It  fortifies  the  soul 
to  know  that  it  has  a  foundation,  sure  and  strong.  Of 
course  there  are  reactions  in  the  forward  movement, 
of  course  the  tide  ebbs  now  and  then,  of  course  the  old 
habits  recur,  but  the  new  power  in  the  soul,  the  new 
motive,  once  having  begun  to  act,  is  sure  to  bring  in  the 
tide  again,  sure  to  conquer,  each  time  more  easily,  the 
recurrence  of  the  temptations  we  now  resent.  Therefore 
I  bid  you  God  speed,  with  joy.  It  is  a  great,  great 
thing  to  have  got  begun  in  the  heart  the  Peace  that 
passeth  understanding,  the  Peace  that  is  at  one  with 
self-forgetfulness  because  we  love  others  so  much  that 
we  can  love  ourselves  no  more." 

ToM. 

"  London.     Jiuie,  '88. 

**  Dearest  Child, — This  is  a  note  to  bid  you  welcome 
home.  I  suppose  you  will  receive  it  a  few  days  before 
you  start.     How  glad  I  am,  how  rejoiced  that  I  shall  see 


434  LETTERS   TO   HIS  DAUGHTERS 

you  soon  again.^  It  will  be  real  happiness,  and  it  makes 
it  all  the  more  enchanting  that  Stopford  is  coming  with 
you.  But  that  does  not  prevent  the  receiving  you  again 
into  my  arms  being  a  distinct,  unique  feeling  which 
belongs  to  you  and  nobody  else  in  the  world.  Love  of 
every  kind  is  no  good,  when  it  has  no  personal  touch  in 
it,  but  is  only  generic.  I  felt  a  general  affection  for 
my  daughters  when  they  were  young,  but  when  they 
developt  character,  they  each  got  and  gave  a  special 
personal  love.  And  you  and  I  have  been  much  together 
and  know  one  another  pretty  well !  It  will  be  delightful 
having  you  again,  and  perhaps  you  will  come  off  with 
me  somewhere  in  August,  if  I  can  pick  up  any  money. 
I  have  sent  some  books,  prints,  and  coins  to  be  sold,  and 
by  August  shall  have,  I  hope,  a  tiny  nest  egg.  I  can't 
use  up  the  Primer  cash.  That  I  have  anticipated  in 
buying  Inchbolds.  All  that  he  left  behind  came  into 
the  market,  and  went  very  cheaply.  I  bought  the  three 
best  things  in  the  sale.  I  hope  you  will  like  them. 
Alas  !     I  fear  I  shall  have  to  part  with  one  of  them." 

'        ToE. 

"  Shere,  Surrey.     June,  '88. 

"...  I  got  down  safely — after  all — without  my 
daughters'  protection.  I  recalled  days  in  so  remote  a 
past  that  the  age  of  the  Pyramids — in  imagination — 
dwindles  before  it — days  when  I  travelled  alone,  and  by 
an  effort  of  will  and  intelligence,  I  was  enabled  to  pay 
my  own  cab,  to  take  my  ticket,  to  find  the  carriage,  and 
to  wear,  all  through,  the  air  of  a  man  who  realized  his 
world ! 

"But  when  I  had  given  twopence  to  the  porter  at 
Gomshall,  then  I  was  divided  between  admiration  and 
anger — admiration  at  the  skill  with  which  my  daughters 
had  calculated  my  expense,  almost  to  the  uttermost 
farthing,  and  anger  at  being  treated  with  such  a  mixture 
of  parsimony  and  want  of  confidence.  I  found  myself 
when  I  arrived  at  Hurstcote — with  exactly  one  penny  in 
my   pocket !     No  more  !     No  more  !     No  more  !    Like 

'  She  had  been  for  some  mouths  with  her  brother  in  America. 


IN   GLOUCESTER  CATHEDRAL  435 

Andromache  parting  from  Hector  when  he  was  hugging 
his  baby  previous  to  slashing  the  Greeks,  I  smiled 
through  my  tears,  but  S.  to  whom  I  told  this  story  was 
greatly  touched,  and  offered  me  what  money  I  would 
have.     '  Oh  none,  nothing,'  I  said,  and  turned  away." 


ToE. 

■'Boscastle.  Sept.,  '88. 
"...  Wells  was  interesting,  but,  being  Sunday,  all 
things  were  shut  up.  It  is  a  curious  arrangement  which 
on  our  one  day  of  leisure  in  England,  shuts  up  all  that 
men  who  have  only  that  day  desire  to  see.  Glastonbury, 
which  I  had  especially  come  to  see,  was  closed.  I  had 
no  chance  of  seeing  Arthur  or  the  weeping  Queens. 
The  Cathedral  also  was  not  shown.  I  believe  the 
Chapter  House  and  the  painted  glass  are  fine,  but  the 
black  veil  of  Sunday  was  over  them.  I  am  told  that 
the  Palace  Grounds  are  charming,  but  the  Bishop  bolts 
and  bars  them  on  Sunday.  It  is  mighty  stupid.  .  .  . 
Along  with  this  there  was  a  steady  descent  of  fine  and 
soaking  rain  which  filled  the  world  with  dripping.  I 
sat  in  the  Cloisters  after  morning  service.  During  the 
service  I  occupied  the  Stall  opposite  to  the  Dean.  I 
nodded  to  him  as  he  came  in.  There  he  was  cheek  by 
jowl  with  a  leading  Unitarian,  an  awful,  even  a  compro- 
mising position  ;  but  very  amusing  for  me.  Stopford  was 
next  to  me — so,  there  was  quite  a  foundation  of  gay  and 
vigorous  non-conformity  in  the  midst  of  the  old  world 
business  of  a  sleepy  Cathedral  Service.  And  sleepy  it 
was !  It  seemed  to  me  as  if  the  creeping  mist  outside 
had  got  into  the  brains  of  the  folk  who  read  and  preached. 
Plumptre  is,  of  course,  intelligent — but  the  rest  ? '' 


ToE. 

"  A  Yorkshire  '  watering-placo.'     Sept.,  '89. 

"  Every  day  I  have  thought  of  you  and  of  writing  to 
you,  but  I  have  been  lazy  and  by  no  means  so  well  as  I 
should  wish.     I  am  much  more  tired  and  weary  than  I 


436  LETTERS   TO   HIS   DAUGHTERS 

was  in  London,  and  my  '  stamens '  are  troublesome. 
Grasmere  was  charming  but  did  not  suit  me — 'twas  too 
damp  and  muffled  an  air — and  I  do  not  like  this  place, 
though  the  air  is  better.  It  is  noisy,  town-like,  dirty,  of 
a  very  revolting  colour,  a  blurred  clay,  the  grass  is  long 
and  ragged  and  full  of  paper  and  pipkins,  the  tide  goes 
out  and  leaves  long  stretches  of  very  ugly  mud.  Most 
of  the  men  look  drunk,  and  the  women  wretched.  Drink 
and  poverty  have  consumed  them.  At  night  dredging 
machines  pump  to  and  fro,  making  the  hours  hideous, 
and  by  day  the  smoke  arises  from  gas  works,  furnaces, 
and  dreadful  houses  built  by  capitalists,  I  suppose,  for 
their  workmen  on  the  strictest  principles  of  economy, 
monotony,  and  vileness.  The  only  redeeming  things 
are  the  old  houses  with  their  red  roofs  clustered  under 
the  cliff.  These  are  pretty  and  in  harmony,  and  there 
is  a  beautiful  in  and  out  and  wild  arrangement  of  gables 
and  chimneys  and  roofs  which  I  look  at  as  much  as  I 
can.  The  sea  is  gray  and  dirty  looking — how  unlike  my 
glorious  deep-green  ocean  clearness  at  Tintagel !  The 
smoke  hides  the  blue  sky  which  would  be  lovely  to-day 
if  there  were  no  town.  I'm  not  fascinated,  you  see,  but 
then  I  am  not  very  well,  and  can  only  at  present  stroll 
about ;  and  there  are  no  places  to  sit  down  in.  We  have 
got  lodgings  on  the  clitf,  looking  across  the  harbour. 
We  walked  along  the  clifl's  yesterday.  I  thought  them 
most  uninteresting  and  ugly.  Many  tourists,  all  wearing 
the  most  manufacturing  air,  were  about,  all  proud  of 
being  Englishmen  and  vain,  of  their  clothes.  I  don't 
suppose  there  is  another  nation  in  the  world  whose 
clothes  look  so  queer  upon  them  as  on  the  ghastly 
middle  class  of  England,  or  who  would  be  proud  of 
blackening  and  ruining  the  beauty  of  their  country  for 
the  sake  of  wealth.  Yorkshire  is  absolutely  covered  with 
a  pall  of  smoke,  apparently  from  end  to  end.  They  are 
beginning  to  ruin  Grasmere  which  was  once  a  quiet 
home  of  loveliness.  It  is  loathsome  to  think  of  it,  and 
for  the  sake  of  money,  which  they  spend  as  stupidly  as 
they  make  it  iniquitously.  My  temper,  you  see,  is  as 
much   disturbed  as  my  leg.     I  have  done  little  or  no 


HIS   HOTEL   ON   FIRE  137 

work,  written  no  verses  to  speak  of,  and  not  lived  as  I 
care  to  live." 

To  E. 

"  [London.]     April,  '90. 

"...  The  early  people  said  things  well  because  they 
did  not  ask  themselves  what  other  people  would  think 
of  how  they  said  them.  Criticism  has  dealt  a  deadly 
blow  to  the  prevalence  of  Poetry.  The  great  men,  of 
course,  go  on  their  way,  knowing  that  they  love  to  say 
what  they  say,  and  not  caring  whether  the  world  says  it 
is  good  or  bad.  They  write  because  they  enjoy  writing. 
But  those  who  are  not  great,  but  who  would  say  things  in 
a  natural,  unconscious,  pleasant  fashion  which  would 
have  its  charm,  don't  do  it.  The}^  ask  themselves  what 
will  the  world  say,  and  the  papers  ?  am  I  right  or  wrong 
in  enjoying  this  '?  is  what  I  say  about  it  adequate  ?  and 
a  hundred  other  questions,  and  every  question,  making 
them  self-conscious,  and  questioning  the  source  of  joy 
and  nature  in  them,  spoil  their  work,  till  they  do  nothing 
which  is  good." 

To  0. 

"  Bangor.     Sept.,  '91. 

"...  I  am  well  on  my  way,  I  hope,  to  getting  well, 
after  this  disagreeable  time.  .  .  . 

"  Moreover,  a  striking  event  here  last  night  proves 
that  the  extreme  sensitiveness  and  catching  iniquities  in 
my  throat  have  diminished.  ...  At  2  a.m.  last  night, 
thundering  noises  and  shouts  awoke  me  to  half-conscious- 
ness, then  Maud  burst  into  the  room,  but  as  cool  and 
calm  as  possible,  telling  me  to  get  up,  for  the  hotel  was 
on  fire,  and  I  now  heard  the  whole  house  ringing  with 
cries  of  *  Fire — Fire.  Wake  up.  Fire  ! '  and  indeed  the 
room,  and  all  the  passages  were  filled  with  surging  smoke. 
I  drest  quietly  and  quickly,  and  M.  did  the  same,  woke  H. 
and  C.  packed  them  back  to  put  on  plenty  of  clothes,  and 
we  were  all  out  through  the  reek  to  the  stairs  and  the 
hall  door.  Old  men  and  women,  and  girls  and  young 
fellows  were  hustling  about  in  their  night  dresses,  and 


438  LETTERS   TO  HIS   DAUGHTERS 

shawls,  crying,  some  shouting,  asking  every  kind  of 
question,  in  frights  and  fumes.  We  all  got  down  to- 
gether, smarting  with  smoke  to  the  hall  door,  and 
marched  out  into  the  open  air.  There  was  Orion  blazing 
as  calm  as  a  Saint  in  the  sky,  and  saying — '  So  hot,  my 
little  men  '  !  Seeing  that  flames  were  not  as  yet  about, 
I  proposed  to  M.  to  come  and  save  my  MSS  at  least,  and 
to  get  more  clothing  on.  So  we  marched  back  through 
the  clouds  to  our  rooms,  lit  a  candle,  stowed  all  the  MSS 
and  the  books,  took  all  the  coats  and  wraps,  and  came 
down  again ;  wrapt  up  the  Aunts,  and  then  walked  up 
and  down  in  the  starlight,  waiting  for  circumstances. 
The  fire  was  found  in  the  stillroom,  in  cupboards  and 
panelling,  a  whole  room  was  burnt,  but  it  was  got  under. 
There  was  no  draught,  but  we  had  a  wonderful  escape. 
Had  it  not  been  smelt  early  by  one  man — an  old  gentle- 
man lodger — had  it  once  got  outside  the  stillroom,  this 
house  would  have  been  burnt  to  the  ground  in  an  hour. 
It  is  old  and  mostly  of  wood.  So,  we  have  had  an 
adventure.  .  .  .  We  were  all  back  in  bed  at  4.30.  But 
the  smell  of  Fried  House  is  very  disagreeable." 

ToE. 

"  London.    April,  '92. 

"...  Three  pictures  by  Costa  turned  up  at  Christie's 
and  each  seemed  lovelier,  as  I  looked  at  it,  than  the 
other  two.  It  was  a  desperate  strait  to  be  in,  to  choose 
one  out  of  the  rest  to  buy.  It  almost  maddened  me. 
I  went  from  one  to  the  other,  and  as  I  loved  all  three  I 
was  beaten  about,  far  worse  than  Paris  when  all  the 
three  goddesses  stood  before  him  on  the  fields  of  Ida. 
Paris  chose  one  and  caused  unnumbered  wars.  I  saw 
a  better  way  out  of  it,  and  I  chose  all  three.  But  then — 
I  knew  I  couldn't  go  to  Venice.  I  must  lay  out  on  the 
pictures  all  I  had  put  aside  for  Venice,  if  I  were  to  take  all 
three.  But  at  last  I  chose  the  best.  *  Holidays,'  said  I, 
'  be  hanged,  it  is  the  pictures  that  shall  be  hanged — on 
my  walls.'' 

"  So  I  bought  them  all,  and  I  am  forced  now  to  stay 
at  home.     Wait  till  you  see  them,  and  you  will  say,  '  It 


AT   STRATFORD    ON   AYON  439 

was  well  clone  of  my  Father,'  for  they  are  lovely  ;  and 
all  different,  in  different  moods,  and  even  in  different 
technique." 

ToE. 

"  Stratford  on  Avon.    May,  '92. 

"Here  we  stay  to-day,  still  with  'glorious  Will'  I 
cannot  much  realize  his  presence  here ;  he  does  not,  like 
Wordsworth,  belong  to  one  place,  but  to  all  the  world. 
He  seems  to  have  been  born  everywhere ;  and  I  have  as 
many  associations  with  him  in  Italy  as  in  England,  and 
in  all  England  as  at  Stratford.  But  the  sun  is  shining 
clear,  the  air  is  warm  and  summer-hearted,  and  Nature 
is  more,  even,  than  Shakespeare  is  to  me.  Could  I  but 
live  in  a  lovely  country,  I  would  never  read  a  line  of 
poetry,  and  certainly  not  one  line  of  tragedy.  What  to 
me  are  all  the  woes  of  Hamlet,  Othello  and  Lear,  of  Imogen 
and  Constance  and  Isabella  when  I  sit  beside  a  stream 
and  see  above  my  head  the  beech  unfolding  its  sheathed 
leaves.  I  forget  all  the  sorrows  and  passions  of 
Humanity,  and  am  myself  a  part  of  Nature.  I  never 
loved  a  woman  as  well  as  I  have  loved  the  wild  world 
of  this  earth  and  sky.  Nor,  if  I  lived  in  a  beautiful 
country,  and  in  a  sunny  climate  should  I  ever  read  a 
book,  except  as  one  eats  a  *  dolce '  now  and  then, 
just  to  make  the  true  bread  and  butter  of  life  more 
delightful. 

"Yesterday  evening  we  spent  wandering  about  in 
Welcombe  Park  and  lovely  it  was,  the  thorns  all  green, 
the  elms  in  a  mist  of  verdure,  the  rabbits  flying  to  and 
fro,  the  thrushes  whistling,  the  violets  peeping  through 
the  grass,  and  from  our  hill  top  the  whole  country 
below,  woods  and  church  towers  and  shining  halls  and 
gleaming  rivers,  and  beyond,  Edgehill,  where  the  battle 
was  fought.  Peace  was  full  on  earth  and  sky.  It  is  a 
sleepy  country,  but  enjoyable  for  a  time.  I  like  a 
lonelier  and  rougher  world,  if  I  cannot  get  Italy." 


VOL.  II. 


440  LETTERS   TO  HIS  DAUGHTERS 

To  V. 

"Lac  Lugano.    Sept.,  '92. 

"  I  owe  you  a  letter  this  long  time,  and  at  last  I 
begin  it  this  lovely  morning  1000  feet  up  on  Monte 
Generoso.  The  hotel  stands  among  low  beech  woods 
and  steep-sloped  meadows  fed  over  by  cattle  whose  bells 
tinkle  in  the  clear  air.  A  world  of  mountains,  tumbled 
like  a  stormy  sea,  lies  before  me  as  I  look  out  of  my 
window.  The  air  is  still  and  all  distant  sounds  are 
clear.  It  is  a  lovely  place ;  but  it  wants  the  humanity 
and  the  sympathy  of  Vallombrosa.  There  are  no  Saints, 
no  miracles,  no  fountains,  no  holy  trees,  no  slumbrous 
wells,  no  remnants  of  a  glorious  past.  I  miss  these 
sorely.  Nature  ought  always  to  be  married  to  the 
sorrows  and  splendour  and  love  of  men." 

ToE. 

"Baveno.    Oct., '92. 

"  There's  not  much  to  be  said  of  the  place  you  are 
so  fond  of  this  morning ;  no  nor  yesterday.  It  rained 
all  day  yesterday,  and  I  refused  to  go  out.  I  never,  for 
one  moment,  left  the  house.  It  was  a  blessed  time.  I 
drew,  and  I  read  novels  at  night,  and  at  intervals  I 
looked  out  of  the  window,  and  said,  '  Anyway,  this  is 
better  than  London  sunshine.'  All  the  same,  if  this 
goes  on,  as  it  shows  every  prospect  of  doing,  look  out  for 
me  at  any  moment,  for  the  need  of  doing  some  work, 
after  two  months  of  novels  and  water  colours,  is,  I  am 
sorry  to  say,  growing  upon  me.  This  is  the  modern 
disease,  and  there  is  no  cure  for  it.  It  must  be  gone 
through,  and  it  lasts,  when  its  attack  is  bad,  so  long — 
sometimes  eight,  nine  or  ten  months— that  it  leaves  one 
exhausted  and  dry.  People  think  it  health — that's  the 
real  horror  of  it — but  worse  still,  they  think  it  God,  and 
worship  it ;  Workolatry,  I  call  it,  though  the  word  might 
be  better  formed.  I  feel  the  approach  of  all  the  morbid 
symptoms,  and  when  the  fever  begins,  I  know  that  in 
spite  of  my  conscience  and  intelligence  and  imagination, 
in  the  very  teeth  of  all  I  know  is  best,  I  shall  set  off 


ONLY  ONE    THING  PERMANENT        441 

home,  and  be  ill  of  work.  However,  I'm  never  fool 
enough  to  worship  it.  I  know  I'm  ill  when  I  am  thus 
attacked.  I  don't  set  up  an  idol  of  the  Disease  in  my 
bosom,  and  offer  it  my  soul  and  mind  and  strength 
and  passions  and  imagination,  as  sacrifices  and  burnt 
offerings.    I'm  often  bad,  but  not  as  bad  as  that." 

Toll. 

"Boiunemouth.    Oct., '94.     ' 

*• .  .  .  I  have  now  become  so  habituated  to  lying 
down  and  doing  nothing  ^  that  I  look  forward  with  a 
little  regret  to  making  exertions  of  any  kind,  and  to 
resuming  the  claims  of  life.  There's  nothing  painful 
or  pleasurable  but  habit  makes  it  so.  What  a  roaring 
lie  that  is  as  well  as  a  truth.  When  I  get  out,  and  feel 
the  wind  of  life  again  blow  through  my  brain,  I  know  I 
shall  regret  having  given  up  the  Chapel  for  six  months, 
and  wish  myself  at  once  out  of  harbour  and  driven  by 
the  wind.  We  are  the  slaves  of  the  stomach  and  nerves, 
and  the  weaker  they  are,  the  worse,  like  feeble  and 
furious  tyrants,  is  the  slavery  they  exercise." 

To  V, 

"  Bouruemouth.     Nov., '94. 

"...  The  sky  is  gray  and  cold  and  the  sea  unhappy, 
but  our  weather  is  like  a  sandwich,  one  day  fine  between 
two  storms.  I  must  get  to  London  soon,  and  there  settle 
what  I  am  going  to  do.  At  present  I  am  outside  of  life, 
nay  I  seem  outside  of  space.  I  don't  seem  to  care  what 
the  House  of  Lords  will  come  to,  nor  the  School  Board, 
nor  the  Parish  Councils.  Sound  and  fury  they  are  to 
me,  signifying  nothing.  ...  I  suppose  that  when  I  get 
back  into  London,  that  forge  and  meeting- place  of 
passions,  I  shall  again  think  all  the  questions  of  the 
day  important,  but  most  of  them  are  quite  imperma- 
nent ;  illusions  which  lure  us  into  doing  something  and 
so  deceive  the  way  of  life.  There's  only  one  thing 
needful — only  one  thing  permanent.     It  is  to  love  ;  and 

'  He  was  rocoveiiu'j  from  a  severe  illue^s. 


442  LETTERS   TO  HIS   DAUGHTERS 

when  we  love,  or  rather,  so  far  as  we  love,  the  universe 
is  ours,  God,  and  all  that  He  gives  birth  to,  all  that  has 
been  born  from  Him." 

ToH. 

"Bournemouth.    Nov., '94. 

'*...!  mean  to  leave  this  next  Monday  for  London, 
and  then  you  can  personally  probe  me,  if  you  desire  it, 
to  the  quick.  But  you  will  find  nothing  queer.  Only 
the  commonplace  moves  in  me  at  present.  I've  taken  to 
writing  a  diary  and  find  nothing  to  say.  But  contact 
with  you  may  perhaps  awake  the  slumbering  intelligences 
within  me,  unless  they  have  altogether  gone  dead.  They 
never  were  worth  much,  and,  as  long  as  I  can  feel,  I  am 
satisfied.  When  that  goes,  I  shall  welcome  that  *  heavy 
lightness,  serious  vanity,'  which  Shakespeare  thought  to 
be  Love,  but  which  I  think  Death  to  be.  Yet  Death  and 
Love  are  one,  as  a  few  know,  and  as  many  hope.  I  am 
hungry  to  begin  work  again  ;  and  I  do  not  know  how  to 
do  so,  till  I  get  to  London.  .  .  . 

"  I  have  almost  resolved  to  get  a  house  at  Wimbledon, 
with  garden,  etc.,  etc.,  and  to  let  Manchester  Square 
furnished  from  January  to  August,  and  afterwards  un- 
furnished. Perhaps,  being  in  the  country,  and  having 
a  garden,  I  might  then  not  dislike  too  much  to  reopen 
the  Chapel  for  some  years.  But  I  have  also  almost 
resolved  to  take  a  year's  holiday." 

To  O. 

"  Venice.    May,  '95. 

"...  Venice  was  vastly  full,  being  invaded  by 
persons  flying  from  Florence  after  the  earthquake  who 
did  not  consider  that  if  they  wanted  to  avoid  earthquakes 
they  would  find  Florence  after  such  a  shock  the  safest 
place  in  Italy.  It  is  four  hundred  years  since  anything 
so  bad  has  been  in  Florence.  Little  tremblings  have 
been  felt  since  1473,  but  only  these.  Venice  is  lovely 
now  after  some  days  of  bad  weather.  The  wind  is  fresh 
and  gay,  and  the  sky  full  of  magnificent  white  clouds, 
fortresses,   floating  islands,  vast  domes,   soaring  piles 


RESTORATIONS   IN  VENICE  443 

which  climb  from  the  horizon  to  the  zenith,  all  in  a 
bine  sky  and  a  ^Yarm  sunlight,  white  as  the  terrible 
cr3'stal  of  Ezekiel.  But  the  colour  of  the  lagoons  and 
sea  and  of  the  sunset  is  not  to  be  compared  with  that 
of  Autumn.  The  sun  dips  into  a  bank  of  clouds  at  its 
setting  and  all  is  grey  in  five  minutes.  In  September 
Apollo  lingers  in  the  sky,  and  leaves  behind  him  for  two 
hours  gold  and  purple,  crimson  and  pearl,  sapphire  and 
amber  and  ebony  on  both  sea  and  sky.  The  city  is 
being  spoiled  day  by  day.  Every  day,  on  visiting  some 
old  favourite  thing  I  find  it  gone  or  restored,  and  the 
restoration  is  the  more  complete  destruction.  There  is 
no  sadness  and  indignation  greater  than  that  one  feels 
in  an  Italian  town  at  this  time.  These  modern  villains 
appear  absolutely  to  hate  the  ancient  work,  and  what  is 
still  worse,  to  love  their  own,  or  rather,  to  be  proud  of 
their  own.  That  it  is  new  is  enough  for  them.  And 
the  result  of  Ruskin's  having  drawn  attention  to  any 
beautiful  architecture  or  painting  is  that  it  is  handed 
over  at  once  to  the  restorer.  Poor  fellow  !  This  result 
of  his  work  must  be  absolutely  maddening.  I  am  very 
well  now.  Don't  be  anxious  about  me  any  more.  And 
I  am  doing  nothing  with  the  most  praiseworthy  con- 
sistency. Perhaps  after  this  long  interval,  my  brains 
will  come  back,  but  that  I  gravely  doubt.  I  hold  that 
my  work  is  over,  but  if  the  public  of  Oxford  Street  or  of 
Bloomsbury  Chapel  still  want  Brooke— and  water — they 
can  have  it  for  three  years  more,  though  I  don't  admire 
their  taste.  After  that,  I  suppose  I  may  be  allowed  to 
'  hang  up  the  shovel  and  the  hoe,'  and  to  live  near  a 
running  stream,  which  is  all  I  ask  for,  until  I  see,  as  I 
hope  I  may,  the  river  of  the  water  of  life  and  the  pleasant 
fruit  trees  thereby,  whose  leaves  are  for  the  healing 
of  the  nations.  Pity  that  they  are  not  made  use  of, 
though  I  suppose  there  are  good  reasons.  I  go  from 
city  to  city,  all  a-swarm  with  folk.  "What  is  to  become 
of  them  all '?  Who  looks  after  them  ?  The  choice  of  a 
few  to  save  is  no  answer.  All  must  be  personally  cared 
for  or  religion  is  a  humbug.  And  faith  has  a  hard  battle, 
when,  apart  from  the  rush  as  I  am  now,  I  feel  the  million 


444    LETTERS  TO  HIS  DAUGHTERS 

surges  of  humanity  brealdng  on  my  heart,  silently 
inactive.  In  the  stir,  this  impression  is  always  being 
washed  out.  Out  of  it,  it  sinks  in,  and  in  strong  colour. 
"You  talk  of  my  being  in  Birmingham  in  August. 
There  is  not  a  chance  of  that.  I  don't  think  I  shall  come 
back  to  England  till  the  middle  of  September,  if  then. 
I  foolishly  dread  the  winter,  but  I  dread  preaching  still 
more." 

To  S. 

"  Firenze.    May,  '95. 

"  .  .  .  I  am  not  so  well  as  I  was  at  San  Remo.  Cities 
do  not  suit  me.  Their  noise,  their  smells,  their  dusty 
air,  their  dirt  worry  all  my  senses  and  these  disturb  my 
nerves,  and  these  my  whole  being.  My  leg  troubles  me, 
and  I  can't  get  about  as  I  should  like.  Once  I  enjoyed 
all  this  movement,  all  the  sights,  now — give  me  my 
scallop-shell  of  quiet,  I  think  I  have  had  all  of  this 
world — so  far  as  humanity  goes — which  I  care  to  have. 
Of  peaceful  nature  I  have  not  had  enough — of  mountains 
not  too  high,  of  woods  not  too  dark  and  deep,  of  streams 
not  too  large  or  violent,  of  skies  not  too  stormy,  of 
clouds  not  too  various.  These,  and  their  beauty,  I 
desire  still,  but  there  is  little  else  that  I  now  desire. 
Evelyn  and  Verona  seem  to  be  amazed  with  the  wonders 
of  this  town  and  are  happy,  I  think,  in  their  wonder, 
but  I  have  not  been  able  to  go  about  much  with  them.  I 
do  get  so  tired." 

To  E. 

"  Homburg.    June,  '96. 

"...  Now  your  letters  are  Evelyn's  letters — that  is 
a  consolation.  And  if  I  get  the  personal  touch,  I  don't 
care  if  the  letter  is  ill-spelt,  ill-written,  in  bad  grammar, 
and  even  vulgar.  It  is  the  personal  smack  which  is 
interesting.  I  was  heartily  amused  by  the  Es.  and  the 
Princess  Louise.  I  hear  the  Empress  Frederick  is  here, 
but  I  have  not  left  my  card.  Royalties  do  not  interest 
me ;  and  if  she  felt  momentarily  bored,  she  might  have 
a  fancy  to  summon  me ;  and  that  would  bore  me.    Lord 


AT   HOMBURG  445 

Carlingford  has  called  on  me.  I  don't  know  him ;  he 
must  have  mistaken  me  for  some  one  else,  for  I  am  down 
in  the  Fremden  Liste  as  E.  Brooke.  .  .  . 

"  And  now  about  ourselves  I  think  I  am  much  better. 
...  I  feel  lighter,  brighter,  more  able  to  work  and  to 
care  for  living.  I  don't  sleep  very  well,  but  that  will 
come.  The  beds  were  severe  at  first.  ...  I  get,  we 
get,  up  at  about  seven.  I  try  to  believe  all  things  are 
for  the  best  as  I  am  dressing,  but  it  tries  my  credulity. 
Then  I  have  a  small  cup  of  tea  and  a  single  rusk,  and 
after  that,  I  feel  as  if  I  could  sing.  Hail !  Smiling  Morn  ! 
When  I  get  out  at  7.30  and  hear  the  thrushes  singing, 
and  see  the  birds,  yellow  and  blue  and  golden  brown 
perching  on  every  spray,  for  there  are  thousands  of  birds 
here,  and  when  I  feel  the  early  sunlight  and  the  pure 
air  all  odorous  with  the  rose,  I  am  quite  happy,  and  I 
saunter,  passing  through  a  lovely  Rosengarten,  to  the 
Elizabeth  Spring.  There  I  sit  down  on  a  bench,  while 
Maud  fetches  me  my  first  glass.  I  drink  it,  criticizing 
the  women  and  their  dresses,  and  wondering  how  so 
many  ugly  people  are  born.  However,  as  the  season 
advances,  some  good  looks  are  coming.  I  have  not  been 
made  so  ill  by  ugliness  as  I  was  at  first.  I  drink  my 
glass,  and  then  stroll  about  through  alleys  of  trees  and 
fiowering  shrubs,  by  fountains  and  mineral  springs, 
while  the  band  plays,  for  half  of  an  hour.  Then  I  drink 
another  tumbler,  and  it  is  always  worse  than  the  first, 
and  then  I  forget  the  Ludwig-Brunnen,  and  Maud  says, 
'  Stop  dreaming.  Father.  Come  for  your  other  glass.' 
Then  I  groan  and  obey." 

To  0. 

"  Baveno.    Oct.,  '9G. 

"  After  six  days  of  incessant  rain,  the  sky  has  cleared 
and  all  the  mountains  are  deep  in  snow  and  glitter  in 
the  sunlight.  This  makes  me  hate  to  leave  this  place, 
but  I  expect  that  we  shall  start  to-morrow  for  home,  and 
very  sorry  I  am  indeed.  London  is  the  Temple  of 
Horror.  However,  Fm  well  enough,  and  I  trust  I  may 
have  some  strength  to  bear  all  I  must  sufi'er.     I  ask 


446  LETTERS   TO   HIS   DAUGHTERS 

myself  again  and  again  why  I  ever  go  back,  nov/  that  I 
can  stay  away,  what  it  is  that  induces  me  to  Hve  in 
England  ?  and  I  can  find  no  reply.  Some  day  I  suppose 
I  shall  break  aAvay  altogether,  and  certainly  if  I  were 
younger  I  would  do  so.  ...  I  feel  ridiculously  nervous 
at  preaching  for  the  first  time  for  more  than  two  years, 
and  I  have  not  one  grain  of  pleasure  in  doing  it.  Folk 
seem  to  think  that  I  am  hungering  and  thirsting  to 
preach  again.  If  they  only  knew !  It  is  just  the 
opposite. 

"  '  We  have  had  enough  of  preaching,  and  enough  of  lectures  we, 
Rolled  from  pulpit  on  to  platform  on  the  public's  heavy  sea.' 

"  It  would  not  cost  me  one  sigh  if  I  never  saw  an 
audience  again." 


CHAPTER  XXII 

LAST    YEARS    AT    BEDFORD    CTIAPEL 

1890-1895 

"  In  life,  indeed,  the  only  thing  which  is  absolutely  uncertain  is 
what  they  call  the  real.  The  real  only  exist';,  so  far  as  it  does  exist,  to 
enable  us  to  create  the  ideal.  That  is  its  only  use.  It  is  a  dream 
which  leads  us  into  the  actual." — (Diary,  November  27,  1394.) 

"  We  wandered  on  the  clifis  [near  Bundoran]  and  talked  with  the 
Master  of  the  Rolls  and  his  wife.  The  latter  told  me  that  two  Man- 
chester men  had  recognized  me  and  declared  to  one  another  '  that  I 
was  very  intelligent ;  that  I  had  set  up  a  new  religion  which  did  a 
great  deal  of  good  1 '  "—(Diary,  May  21,  1898.) 

When  his  regular  ministry  came  to  a  close  Brooke  was  at 
the  climax  of  his  power  as  a  preacher.  The  theological 
controversies  of  an  earlier  time  were  behind  him ;  the 
various  currents  of  his  nature  were  flowing  in  a  single 
stream  ;  his  message  was  positive  and  fully  formed  ;  and 
he  was  proclaiming  it  with  immense  fervour  and  joy. 

His  range  at  this  time  was  vast — now  covering  wide 
realms  of  speculation  or  of  history,  now  concentrated  on 
the  private  sorrows  of  individual  men  and  women,  now 
tracking  the  devious  ways  or  revealing  the  dramatic 
interplay  by  which  moods  and  emotions  move  to  their 
issues.  His  note  was  intensely  Christian.  In  the 
words  of  Christ  he  found  the  doctrine  of  an  uncondi- 
tional self-surrender,  whereby  the  mind  was  opened  to 
the  things  of  the  spirit  and  the  heart  to  the  love  of  God. 


448  LAST  YEARS  AT  BEDFORD  CHAPEL 

In  the  person  of  Christ  he  saw  the  figure  of  humanity 
realizing  an  ideal  for  which  the  worlds  were  prepared. 
His  message  was  essentially  the  presentation  of  a  vision 
won  through  self-forgetfulness,  in  which  earth  was 
shown  irradiated  with  the  light  of  heaven  and  man  in 
the  fulfilment  of  his  divine  possibilities. 

The  historical  facts  of  Christianity  and  of  the  whole 
Bible  were  treated  in  the  light  of  the  main  principle — 
that  of  dying  to  live.  They  were  lifted  up  from  the 
ground  of  the  bare  record  and  placed  in  universal  rela- 
tions. He  would  take  the  story  of  an  Old  Testament 
Patriarch  and  weave  into  it  a  philosophy  of  life,  not 
presented  as  philosophy,  but  as  a  spiritual  drama,  in 
which  the  hearer  could  see  a  revelation  of  his  own 
battles,  defeats,  and  victories.  His  preaching  had  the 
universality  which  Shakespeare  possesses  in  another 
field,  and  produced  self-revelations  akin  to  those  which 
follow  the  presentation  of  high  dramatic  art.  One  went 
away  from  hearing  him  purified,  uplifted,  and  ready 
to  accept,  not  only  the  particular  truths  presented  in 
the  sermon  but  many  others  which  until  that  moment 
had  been  hidden.  He  had  the  power  of  letting  daylight 
into  the  soul. 

Were  a  selection  to  be  made  of  the  published  sermons 
which  best  indicate  his  method,  the  choice  would  pro- 
bably fall  upon  two  volumes,  the  one  published  just  before 
the  beginning  and  the  other  at  the  end  of  the  period 
under  review—"  The  Early  Life  of  Jesus  "  (1888),  and 
the  ''Old  Testament  and  Modern  Life"  (1896).  These  two 
volumes  clearly  reveal  the  manner  in  which  his  imagina- 
tion universalized  its  material.  This  is  especially  true 
of  the  Old  Testament  series.  "  The  Death  of  Moses," 
and  '*  Elijah  on  Ploreb,"  are  of  the  same  order  of  work 
as  Tintoretto's  picture  of  the  Last  Supper.    Keeping  a 


A  MULTIPLE   PERSONALITY  449 

firm  baud  on  the  essential  nature  of  the  historical  fact, 
and  concentrating  his  light  on  the  central  figure,  he 
pours  into  his  material  the  resources  of  an  immense 
spiritual  experience  and,  by  imagination,  transmutes 
a  bare  narrative  into  a  vision  of  eternal  things.  He 
contemplates  his  vision  with  a  joy  which  communicates 
itself  even  through  the  form  of  the  printed  word.  It  is 
a  work  of  art,  and  something  more ;  and  in  that  some- 
thing lies  the  secret  of  its  power.  For  the  message  is 
incarnate  in  the  preacher :  it  is  not  a  theme  of  which 
he  is  discoursing,  but  himself  that  is  being  revealed. 
Moses  is  himself,  looking  forward  to  the  end  of  his 
labours  and  to  rest  in  God.  Elijah  is  himself,  fighting 
a  lonel}'  battle  for  his  ideal  through  the  tempestuous 
years  of  his  middle  life.  In  all  this  there  is  the  authen- 
ticity of  personal  experience,  and  the  force  of  direct 
personal  appeal.  Brooke  himself  was  always  there, 
a  living  presence. 

As  the  years  drew  on  towards  the  close  of  his  ministry 
at  Bedford  Chapel,  his  sermons  acquired  more  and  more 
of  this  self-revealing  character.  Had  his  nature  l)een 
framed  on  narrow  lines  this  would  have  been  a  defect, 
and  given  his  message  a  limited  range  of  application. 
But  he  was  a  man  in  whom  the  stages  of  a  long  pro- 
cess of  evolution  seemed  to  be  present  together.  In  his 
reading,  his  friendships,  his  travels,  his  work,  he  was 
constantly  changing  the  level  of  his  life,  ranging  through 
all  the  moods,  the  emotions,  the  points  of  view  which 
separate  the  first  impressions  of  childhood  from  the 
maturity  of  the  reflective  intellect.  Thus  he  was  in 
himself  a  compendium  of  many  human  types,  and  his 
knowledge  of  each,  and  of  their  interaction  with  one 
another,  was  essentially  self-knowledge.  The  spiritual 
drama,  as  he  depicted  it,  was  one  in  which  he  himself 


450  LAST  YEARS  AT  BEDFORD  CHAPEL 

had  acted  all  the  parts.  Even  the  types  of  character 
in  which  he  saw  the  greatest  spiritual  dangers,  and  con- 
demned most  strongly,  were  often  phases  of  himself 
which  he  had  learned  to  conquer.  The  self-absorption 
against  which  he  constantly  inveighed,  especially  that 
form  of  it  which  leads  a  man  to  immure  himself  in  a 
Palace  of  Art,  where  the  sorrows  of  the  world  can  find 
no  entry,  was  one  of  his  own  temptations.  His  social 
message,  in  like  manner,  sprang  from  himself.  His 
generous  and  sympathetic  heart  made  him  a  lover  of 
the  people  and  a  friend  of  the  poor ;  his  tastes  made 
him  an  aristocrat ;  and  the  two  tendencies  had  to  settle 
their  account  on  the  battlefield  of  his  soul.  Both  parties 
to  the  social  struggle  were  represented  in  his  own  cha- 
racter; when  he  spoke  of  the  rich  and  the  poor,  and 
of  love  as  the  reconciling  element  between  them,  he 
was  unconsciously  telling  the  story  of  his  inner  life. 

The  subjects  of  his  sermons  were  suggested  by  recent 
experience  as  it  came  to  him  week  by  week  in  his  com- 
munion with  nature,  his  reading,  his  intercourse  with 
men  and  women  who  brought  him  their  troubles  to  be 
relieved,  their  problems  to  be  solved.  He  would  preach 
on  public  events,  and  national  policy ;  strikes,  riots, 
wars,  trades  unions,  temperance,  housing,  women's  work  : 
he  would  give  lectures  on  the  poets  and  painters;  and 
again  he  would  find  suggestions  in  his  own  moods  as 
they  chased  one  another  like  lights  and  shadows  in  a 
landscape.    He  set  human  nature  to  music. 

He  generally  sketched  his  sermons  on  a  Friday. 
Reluctance  to  begin  had  always  to  be  overcome.  "  I 
hate  thinking  about  what  I  am  going  to  preach,"  he 
wrote  to  one  of  his  daughters  in  '97,  "  it  is  only  when  I 
begin  that  I  like  it."  The  morning  sermon  he  would 
write  on  Saturday,  working  deep  into  the  night;   the 


THE  CORE   OF   HIS  DOCTRINE  451 

evening  sermon  would  often  be  written  on  Sunday  after- 
noon. He  would  continue  his  preparations  till  the  last 
moment,  taking  immense  pains  with  the  finish  of  his 
work. 

Of  course  he  was  not  always  at  his  best,  and  James 
Martineau,  on  leaving  Bedford  Chapel,  would  sometimes 
gravely  shake  his  head.  **  Too  much  sentiment,"  *'  un- 
measured," "  quite  impracticable,"  were  some  of  the 
criticisms  I  heard  from  his  lips.  I  remember  especially 
one  occasion  when  Brooke  had  preached  a  strongly 
socialistic  sermon — a  side  of  his  teaching  with  which 
the  aged  philosopher  had  no  sympathy.  A  few  days 
afterwards  Martineau  said  to  me,  with  a  twinkle  in  his 
eye,  '*  Ah  well,  you  know,  Brooke  is  Brooke.  But  he'll 
learn  wisdom  as  he  grows  older."  Brooke  at  the  time 
was  over  sixty  years  of  age.  Martineau  was  approaching 
ninety. 

The  message  of  Brooke  in  its  final  form  centred  on 
three  interdependent  doctrines :  that  love  is  the  law  of 
life ;  that  the  race  of  man  is  perfectible  and  destined  to 
perfection  ;  that  the  individual  soul  is  immortal.  "What, 
we  may  ask,  was  his  authority  for  this  message  ? 

In  his  address  to  working  men  in  1878,  from  which 
an  extract  has  been  given,  he  declared  that  the  ground 
of  faith  is  "our  own  sense  of  right."  This  language  is 
not  precise  enough  for  philosophical  discussion,  but  it 
shows  very  clearly  that  he  followed  an  inner  light,  and 
rested  on  the  external  witness  of  history  only  so  far  as 
the  two  were  in  accord.  The  question  then  resolves 
itself  into  this— of  what  nature  was  the  inner  light  ? 

Briefly  said,  the  source  of  his  doctrine  was  the  vision 
which  revealed  to  him  the  beauty  of  the  world.  He 
received  it  from  the  primary  forms  of  nature,  from  the 
secondary  forms  of    art,   and   above  all  from   human 


452  LAST  YEAKS  AT  BEDFORD  CHAPEL 

character,  of  which  he  found  the  supreme  expression 
in  the  person  of  Christ.  Through  the  intuition  of 
beauty  in  this  wide-embracing  field  he  passed  "  into  that 
spiritual  region,  by  the  powers  of  which  we  hunger  for 
absolute  love  and  beauty  and  are  filled  with  them ;  by 
which  we  reach  after  infinite  perfection  in  holiness  and 
its  peace ;  by  which  we  claim  personal  union  and  com- 
munion with  God  Himself,  and  in  which  we  transcend 
in  aspiration  all  that  the  senses  disclose,  the  intellect 
shapes  or  the  conscience  demands — the  world  where 
Man,  the  Son,  knows  himself  directly  in  the  Father,  and 
knows  the  Father  directly  in  himself."  ^ 

This  and  nothing  less  than  this  is  what  he  means 
by  "  the  sense  of  right."  It  is  not  another  name  for 
conscience  as  that  term  is  commonly  understood;  and 
Brooke  himself  makes  the  distinction  in  the  Address  in 
which  the  above  passage  occurs.  It  is  the  mystical 
consciousness  which  knows  not  of  any  ultimate  right 
save  that  of  union  with  God,  nor  of  any  ultimate  wrong 
save  that  of  separation  from  God.  To  the  mystic  con- 
sciousness there  are,  we  are  told,  many  avenues  of 
approach.  Brooke  trod  the  way  of  the  poets.  He  was 
a  mystic,  his  intellect  being  the  servant  of  his  imagina- 
tion, shaping  his  vision,  guarding  his  intuitions — the 
defender  and  not  the  author  of  his  faith. 

Brooke  had  strenuously  thought  out  his  position,  and 
he  had  done  so  with  the  teaching  of  history,  philosophy, 
and  science  at  his  elbow.  But  in  him  the  union  of 
thought  and  feeling  was  profound.  He  believed  what 
he  loved,  and  loved  what  he  believed,  and  was  naturally 
incapable  either  of  loving  or  believing  otherwise.  His 
doctrine  was  thus  the  expression  of  his  innermost 
nature.  It  had  foundations  in  reason ;  but  it  appealed 
1  From  his  Memorial  Address  on  James  Martineau.    1900. 


THE    SOURCE   OF   HIS   DOCTRINE        453 

most  to  those  who  felt  the  power,  and  the  charm,  of 
Brooke's  personaht}'. 

Of  these  a  great  number  followed  him  during  his 
lifetime,  men  and  women  who  had  ceased  to  be  impressed 
by  traditional  modes  of  enforcing  religious  truth.  From 
him  they  willingly  accepted  that  which  no  external 
authority  would  have  induced  them  to  believe.  There 
are  multitudes  of  such  persons  at  the  present  day,  and 
Brooke  is  one  of  the  few  preachers  who  have  appealed 
to  them. 

On  the  side  of  his  nature  which  lay  open  to  beauty 
he  had  a  range  of  vision  wider  than  is  given  to  ordinary 
men.  He  saw  beauty  where  science  sees  only  truth, 
where  philosophy  sees  only  a  moral  law,  and  where 
the  eye  of  sense,  blinded  by  covetous  desires,  sees 
nothing  at  all.  As  he  studied  science  and  philosophy, 
as  he  read  the  Bible,  as  he  walked  with  nature  and  man 
his  imagination  took  up  the  material  before  him,  and 
wrought  it  into  the  fabric  of  a  beautiful  dream.  Through 
the  things  and  persons  of  the  visible  world,  through  the 
creations  of  art  and  poetry,  through  goodness  and  noble 
character  he  was  continually  receiving  the  message  of 
an  unseen  and  eternal  loveliness.  In  this  he  resembled 
many  of  the  poets,  especially  Wordsworth,  whose  influence 
had  been  profoundly  with  him  from  his  earliest  years, 
and  of  whom  he  professed  himself  a  disciple.  And 
yet,  taking  them  all  in  all,  it  would  be  hard  to  find 
two  characters,  two  men,  more  unlike  than  William 
Wordsworth  and  Stopford  Brooke.  In  both  the  vision 
was  the  same,  the  same  at  least  in  its  origin,  but  whereas 
in  Wordsworth  the  vision  ended  with  the  moral,  in 
Brooke  the  moral  ended  with  the  vision.  It  is  a 
profound  difference. 

As    Brooke    passed    into  old    age    the    moralizing 


454  LAST  YEARS  AT  BEDFORD  CHAPEL 

tendency,  never  very  strong  within  him,  grew  less,  and 
finally  seemed  to  disappear  altogether  in  a  satisfying 
vision  of  the  beauty  of  goodness  and  the  excellency  of 
God,  Morality  ceased  to  have  any  meaning  for  him 
save  as  the  expression  of  love.  It  was  on  this  ground 
that  he  never  could  feel  himself  altogether  in  harmony 
with  the  Unitarians,  with  whom,  as  I  shall  presently 
relate,  he  became  more  closely  associated  in  his  later 
years.  It  seemed  to  him,  not  quite  truly  perhaps,  that 
the  Unitarians  had  made  the  mistake  of  identifying 
religion  with  the  pursuit  of  moral  excellence.  This 
was  the  defect  which  he  found  in  the  philosophy  of 
Martineau.^  For  moral  excellence  no  man  had  a 
greater  reverence  than  he,  but  he  held  that  men  seldom 
attain  it  when  they  make  it  the  direct  object  of  pursuit ; 
while,  on  the  other  hand,  the  effort  to  attain  it  may 
lead  to  an  impoverishment  of  the  religious  life,  and 
even  to  the  death  of  religion  altogether.  Hence  Brooke 
had  no  sympathy  with  that  section  among  the  Uni- 
tarians (to  which  Martineau  never  belonged)  who  mini- 
mize the  importance  of  historical  Christianity.  He 
never  abandoned  the  view  which  he  had  declared  in  his 
first  sermon  as  a  London  curate— that  Christ  is  the 
supreme  revealer  of  the  nature  of  God.  Pure  theism  he 
regarded  as  untenable.  In  the  character  of  Christ  he 
saw  focussed  the  whole  revelation  of  beauty  as  it  came 
to  him  otherwise  from  the  creations  of  human  art,  from 
the  teachings  of  science,  and  from  the  forms,  colours 
and  movements  of  the  natural  world.  In  later  life  he 
would  quote  with  approval  the  saying  of  Blake  *'  Art 
and  Christianity  are  one."  This  did  not  mean,  however, 
that  the  centre  of  his  message  had  changed  from  its 

'  See  the  Memorial  Address  on  Martineau  mentioned  above.    I 
doubt  if  his  criticism  of  Martineau  is  sound  on  this  point. 


POETRY  TRUER  THAN  PROSE     455 

original  point.  It  meant  that  the  circumference  had 
been  greatly  expanded. 

It  may  seem  that  a  type  of  preaching  which  rested 
on  a  range  of  vision  so  uncommon  would  be  above  the 
heads  of  ordinary  men  and  women.  At  all  events  we 
should  expect  that  his  audience  would  be  largely  com- 
posed of  emotional  and  imaginative  people.  Doubtless 
many  such  were  always  present;  but  that  was  not  the 
general  character  of  the  Bedford  Chapel  congregation 
as  I  knew  it.  It  was  rather  remarkable  for  the  large 
number  of  men  of  the  world — business  men,  professional 
men,  men  of  science — the  class  to  whom  mere  senti- 
mentalism  would  not  have  appealed.  The  truth  is  that 
Brooke  had  a  wonderful  power  of  awakening  the  idealist, 
the  dreamer,  the  poet,  the  lover,  who  lives,  but  often 
slumbers,  in  the  breast  of  every  man.  He  discovered 
us  to  ourselves,  liberated  our  hidden  life  and  gave  us 
entry  into  a  more  enduring  and  lovelier  world.  Some- 
times the  message  passed  over  us,  or  we  could  not  follow 
it,  or  it  seemed  to  leave  us  in  the  land  of  dreams.  But 
oftener  the  dream  became  the  reality,  and  we  went  away 
with  a  newly  found  conviction  that  the  poetry  of  life  is 
truer  than  its  prose. 

In  the  foregoing  I  have  spoken  of  Brooke  as  a  mystic. 
It  is  a  word  to  be  used  with  care,  for  the  mystic  may 
be  either  the  sanest  or  the  most  insane  of  men.  That 
Brooke  was  the  former  the  following  letter  bears  witness. 

To  Mrs  E. 

"  [London.]     Feb.  21,  '92. 

"I  do  not  believe  in  these  uncaused  outpourings  of 
which  you  speak.  "When  people  are  apparently  swept 
suddenly  into  peace  and  joy  in  work  for  God,  and  become 
full  of  faith  and  love,  this  arises  not  from  any  special 

VOL.  II.  u 


466  LAST  YEARS  AT  BEDFORD  CHAPEL 

presence  or  power  of  God  in  them,  but  from  His  power 
falling  on  a  nature  built  especially,  by  inheritance  or  by 
fitness  of  temper,  for  faith,  and  to  whom  doubt  does  not 
present  itself.  These  are  fortunate,  but  we  cannot  be 
all  like  them,  and  while  we  thank  God  for  them,  we  have 
no  reason  to  compare  ourselves  with  them  to  our  own 
disadvantage,  or  rather  to  our  own  depression.  God  is 
as  much  with  us  as  with  them,  but  His  spirit,  conditioned 
by  our  nature,  which  is  also  His  work,  cannot  act  in  that 
way  on  us.  We  must  fight  our  way,  through  warfare 
and  storm,  and  it  may  be  that  our  fight  will  be  good  for 
other  souls  in  the  universe  and  for  the  good  of  the  whole 
of  man's  progress.  Nor  do  I  say — *  may  be  ' — it  is  so. 
We  need  not  ask  so  many  questions  about  ourselves  or 
our  state.  We  have  got  to  accept  our  nature  as  coming 
from  God  and  as  having  its  special  work  to  do  which 
others  cannot  do.  We  have  to  doubt  and  win  faith  at 
the  point  of  the  sword.  We  have  to  go  through  severe 
struggle  and  manifold  temptations.  Let  us  not  complain 
of  it  but  understand  that  it  must  be  so,  and  that  all  our 
wailing  over  it  will  not  alter  it.  God  has  laid  down  our 
place.  It  is  our  business  to  stand  fast  there — in  those 
conditions — and  to  witness  a  good  confession  through 
them.  When  we  accept  life  in  that  way,  believing  that 
we  are  here  in  our  own  nature,  to  do  a  work  in  the 
progress  of  the  world  which  no  one  else  can  do,  we  begin 
to  think  less  of  our  own  state  of  heart  and  our  own 
trouble,  and  to  say  to  ourselves — My  whole  struggle  is  a 
part  of  the  struggle  of  Humanity  towards  its  Father  and 
my  Father,  and  I  will  work  through  it  and  all  its  doubt 
and  dismay,  not  for  my  own  sake  but  for  the  sake  of 
God  and  my  fellows.  Then  our  inward  trouble  begins 
to  die,  for  we  see  it  as  a  means  of  helping  all.  And  we 
think  less  of  it  as  a  personal  trouble,  and  less  and  less 
each  da}'',  until  it  nearly  vanishes  away.  At  least,  it 
changes  its  form,  and  becomes  a  path  of  Help.  We  do 
not  ask  for  special  outpourings  of  the  Spirit.  We  know 
that  the  Spirit  is  with  us  but  with  us  in  warfare,  not  in 
peace,  and  we  make  up  our  minds  to  warfare.  And  as 
we  do,  peace  seems  to  draw  near  to  us,  far  off  as  yet, 


"DOVE   COTTAGE"  457 

but  we  feel  that  it  will  come  when  we  have  done  our 
duty,  and  our  first  duty  is  not  to  be  thinking  of  our 
own  state  of  heart,  but  of  the  state  of  sorrow  and  doubt 
and  dismay  in  which  others  are,  and  how  we  can  help 
and  comfort  and  strengthen  them,  stand  by  them  in  the 
fight  and  ward  and  fight  for  them,  absolutely  certain,  as 
we  well  may  be,  that  in  doing  this,  we  are  doing  the  will 
of  God.  There  is  certainty,  and  it  is  nowhere  else  for  us 
in  this  world. 

"  Why  ask  all  these  questions  ?  You  will  only  find 
the  answer  in  loving  others  to  self-forgetfulness.  And 
there,  and  only  there,  in  loving  others  and  in  loving 
other  things,  so  as  to  lose  yourself — there  alone,  will  you 
find  the  true  secret  of  beauty,  and  cease  to  dream  about 
lovely  things,  because  you  will  see  them  face  to  face. 
Clear  \dsion  may  come  easily  to  others,  though  those  you 
mention  see  but  few  things,  but  the  vision  of  God  which 
ravishes,  and  the  vision  of  Humanity  which  enthralls, 
and  the  vision  of  Beauty  which  enchants  are  only  won 
by  loving  so  deeply  things  and  persons  outside  ourselves, 
with  a  love  which  slays  all  self- questioning,  that  we  have 
neither  time  nor  inclination  to  trouble  ourselves  about 
the  state  of  our  own  soul  at  all.  Life  ought  to  be  ravish- 
ment, but  while  we  are  walking  within  ourselves  we  shall 
never  get  it  so." 

As  Brooke  approached  the  age  of  sixty  the  interrup- 
tions to  his  health  became  more  frequent  and  more 
protracted.  He  was  often  away  from  London  for  long 
periods,  in  Switzerland,  among  the  Italian  Lakes,  or  at 
Grasmere — where  he  was  now  actively  engaged  with  his 
brother  William  and  others  in  a  scheme  for  the  purchase 
of  "  Dove  Cottage,"  the  home  of  Wordsworth  from  1800 
to  1808,  and  for  its  preservation  as  a  national  memorial. 
Again  and  again  he  was  stricken  down,  his  plans  dis- 
arranged, and  his  household  dispersed.  Uncertainty 
hung  over  him  continually,  and  his  congregation  could 
not  count  upon  his  presence  from  one  Sunday  to  another. 


458  LAST  YEARS  AT  BEDFORD  CHAPEL 

During  the  ten  years  between  '85  and  '95  he  never 
preached  without  incurring  a  serious  risk.  He  was  only 
too  ready  to  incur  it,  and  would  often  appear  in  public 
against  the  warnings  of  his  doctor. 

In  1887  his  congregation  found  him  an  assistant,  who 
had  to  be  ready  at  an  hour's  notice  to  conduct  the 
services  if  Brooke  suddenly  found  himself  incapacitated. 
This  gave  him  some  relief.  But  the  arrangement  was 
not  satisfactory  to  the  crowds  of  strangers  who  came  to 
Bedford  Chapel  to  hear  a  famous  preacher  and  had  to 
suffer  the  ministrations  of  a  young  man  with  raw  ideas 
and  little  experience.  For  some  time  Brooke  tried  the 
experiment  of  delivering  his  sermons  while  partly  resting 
on  a  high  stool ;  but  this  he  greatly  disliked,  it  hampered 
his  vigorous  manner  of  delivery,  and  he  would  soon 
push  the  stool  away  from  him  and  resume  the  standing 
posture. 

Meanwhile  each  attack  found  him  more  and  more  out 
of  humour  with  the  gloom  of  London,  and  hungrier  for 
sunshine  and  pure  air.  The  desire  which  had  haunted 
him  all  his  life  of  living  continually  in  the  presence  of 
nature  became  more  insistent,  and  his  letters  show  that 
he  was  often  thinking  of  leaving  London  altogether  and 
retiring  to  the  country,  or  perhaps  to  Venice,  "  the  best 
home  in  the  world  for  tired  human  beings,"  where  he 
had  actually  taken  the  lease  of  a  house. 

He  had  been  living  at  high  pressure  for  many  years, 
and  never  had  he  worked  harder,  or  with  greater  emo- 
tional stress,  than  in  the  five  which  preceded  his  with- 
dravv'al  from  the  active  ministry.  No  sooner  was  the 
"History  of  Early  EngHsh  Literature"  through  the  press 
in  '92,  than  he  projected  the  volume  on  Tennyson,  which 
was  to  be  a  complete  study  of  the  poet's  art.  This  was 
to  be  followed  almost  immediately  by  the  **  Golden  Book 


HIGH  PRESSURE  459 

of  Coleridge  "  (1895)  and  by  the  volume  on  Browning, 
a  companion  to  that  on  Tennyson.  Three  volumes  of 
Sermons,  "  Short  Sermons  "  (1892),  •'  God  and  Christ " 
(1894),  "  The  Old  Testament  and  Modern  Life"  (1896), 
followed  at  intervals  of  two  years.  A  large  amount  of 
work,  some  of  it  tiresome  and  complicated,  fell  on  him 
in  connexion  with  the  purchase  of  '*  Dove  Cottage."  He 
wrote  a  little  book  (1890)  describing  the  place  and  its 
associations,  a  gem  of  literary  art,  and  arranged  a  vast 
number  of  details  connected  with  the  scheme,  even  to 
the  laying  out  of  the  garden  of  the  Cottage,  and  the 
placing  of  the  furniture  in  the  rooms.  In  addition  he 
went  on  with  his  work  at  the  Club  for  Working  Girls 
established  by  his  daughter.  Meanwhile  he  carried 
on  an  immense  private  correspondence,  refusing  to 
employ  a  secretary,  kept  open  house  at  Manchester 
Square,  where  an  unceasing  stream  of  visitors  found 
him  out,  men  and  women  of  all  ranks  and  conditions 
of  life,  and  from  all  parts  of  the  world — ministers  of 
religion,  artists,  writers,  savants,  American  professors, 
Irish  politicians,  and  pundits  from  the  East.  His  family 
circle  was  now  somewhat  reduced.  His  son  had  for 
some  years  been  in  America,  the  minister  of  a  Unitarian 
Church.  In  '95  his  eldest  daughter  was  living  away 
from  home,  pursuing  a  career  of  her  own  ;  of  the  others 
two  were  married. 

The  possibility  that  he  might  have  to  give  up  the 
work  of  regular  preaching  had  been  present  to  his  mind 
from  the  date  of  his  first  breakdown  in  77.  As  time 
went  on,  and  the  attacks  continued  to  recur,  it  became 
clear  that  sooner  or  later  the  step  would  have  to  be 
taken.  He  contemplated  it  with  mixed  feelings,  desirous 
of  relief,  and  yet  conscious  that  preaching  was  a  necessity 
to  his  life.    In  '95  the  matter  came  to  a  crisis.    He  was 


460  LAST  YEARS  AT  BEDFORD  CHAPEL 

very  ill  in  the  spring  of  that  3'Gar,  the  old  malady  having 
returned,  with  complications  due  to  the  physical  inaction 
and  long  confinement  involved.  He  went  to  the  Riviera 
in  March,  subsequently  visiting  Florence,  Pisa,  Lerici, 
Verona,  and  Venice,  with  scanty  benefit  or  enjoyment, 
his  letters  harping  much  on  the  contrast  with  his  earlier 
travels  in  Italy,  when  he  was  young  and  unburdened 
by  the  ills  of  the  body.  Writing  to  General  Brooke 
from  San  Remo  he  says,  "  Winter  suits  me  no  more. 
What  seasons  suit  us  as  we  grow  old  ?  The  time  is  at 
hand  when  the  whole  year  will  be  a  burden.  I  have 
been  more  seriously  troubled  by  this  last  illness  than 
ever  before.  I  don't  seem  to  get  back  my  brains,  nor 
my  imagination — what  I  had  of  it — nor  my  strength, 
nor  my  nerves,  nor  animation.  Of  course  I  have  some 
of  these  left,  but  they  are  not  what  they  were  a  year 
ago,  when  I  overworked  them,  and  I  don't  think  I  shall 
get  them  back  to  their  old  condition." 

In  Florence  he  was  no  better,  troubled  by  his  inability 
to  recover  the  fine  feeling  the  place  had  aroused  in  him 
in  byegone  years,  much  out  of  humour  with  its  noise, 
with  the  signs  of  modern  ugliness  everywhere  making 
their  appearance,  and  above  all  with  the  cold  weather. 
While  staying  in  Florence  he  had  an  adventure  which 
temporarily  restored  his  animation.  On  the  night  of 
May  18th  the  city  was  shaken  by  a  violent  earthquake, 
which  he  thus  describes  to  his  daughter  Honor. 

To  his  daughter  Honor. 

"Florence.    May  19, '95. 

"  We  have  been  highly  favoured  last  night  by  an 
earthquake,  the  first  that  has  been  felt  in  this  town  for 
centuries,  I  believe.  And  Florence  preserved  its  head- 
ship, in  this  matter,  for  the  earthquake  had  its  centre 


EARTHQUAKE  IN  FLORENCE     461 

here,  so  the  papers  say.  I'm  glad,  since  we  were  to 
have  this  thing,  that  we  had  no  exhausted  wave,  not  the 
tail  of  the  matter,  but  the  very  thing  itself.  And  indeed 
it  was  mighty  disagreeable.  We  were  all  sitting  together 
at  5  or  7  minutes  to  9  p.m.  when  with  a  rattling  clash 
the  earth  heaved  up,  and  then  with  a  rumbling  clatter 
undulated  twice,  three  distinct  motions  in  about  five 
seconds  of  time.  The  books  fell  off  their  feet,  the  lamp 
danced,  the  walls  seemed  as  if  they  must  open ;  one  felt 
that  if  these  movements  were  to  increase  in  intensity, 
the  house  must  totter  and  tumble  headlong.  We  all 
leaped  to  our  feet,  and  it  was  curious  to  touch  the  rock- 
ing furniture.  The  noise  was  singular  and  hateful,  and 
the  sensation  of  the  one  solid  thing  which  we  have  here, 
of  the  very  frame  of  life  trembling,  was  so  strange  that 
I  do  not  wonder  at  folk  being  made  sick  by  it.  It  gave 
me  a  peculiar  uncanny  sensation  in  my  legs  and  stomach, 
but  I  had  been  so  low  in  spirits  and  in  health  for 
two  days  that  it  really  required  an  earthquake  to  give 
me  a  rousing  sensation,  so  that  it  was  quite  beneficial. 
I  actually  took  a  walk  at  night  through  the  crowded 
streets,  and  fell  asleep  the  moment  I  put  my  head  on  the 
pillow,  having  had  poor  nights  for  the  last  week.  No 
one  in  Florence  was  injured,  but  every  one  was  in  some- 
thing of  a  panic.  People  poured  out  of  their  houses  into 
the  streets,  carrying  their  jewels,  their  blankets  and 
their  dogs  and  their  babies.  All  the  street  carriages 
were  hired  for  the  night  as  sleeping  rooms ;  the  Cascine 
was  lined  with  them,  the  squares  were  crowded,  the 
Lung'  Arno  also.  But  the  only  *  disgrazie  '  recorded  are 
fallen  chimneys  and  split  roofs,  and  cracked  walls,  and 
ceilings  tumbled  down  and  cornices  on  the  pavements. 
No  horrors  !  Our  upper  story  suffered  a  little,  and  great 
terrors  prevailed  among  our  indwellers.  Some  sat  up 
all  night.  One  woman  with  her  dog  and  a  Polish  Count 
walked  about  the  streets  till  9  a.m.  and  only  returned  for 
breakfast.  There  was  another  slight  shock  at  11  p.m. 
and  another  this  morning  M-hile  I  was  thinking  about 
getting  up.  .  .  . 

"I've  not  been  very  well  in  Florence,  and  I  have 


462  LAST  YEARS  AT  BEDFORD  CHAPEL 

seen  nothing.  I  have  not  been  at  a  single  gallery,  and 
walked  but  little.  The  noise  torments  me,  and  my  leg 
has  been  troublesome.  We  are  going  to  Venice  on 
Tuesday,  where  I  hope  to  find  Peace.  Fm  no  longer 
fit  for  sight-seeing — only  fit,  I  think,  for  some  still 
country  life,  remote  from  '  tower'd  cities '  and  *  the  busy 
hum  of  men,'  and  close  to  the  bosom  of  the  grass  and 
flowers,  of  which  I  shall  soon  form  a  part,  and  perhaps 
a  sentient  part.  .  .  . 

"  I'm  tired.  I  must  close.  There  is  no  brightness 
in  the  sky,  only  one  thin  streak  of  blue,  like  the  last 
hope  in  a  captive's  mind." 

On  June  5th  he  is  in  Venice  and  writes  with  languid 
interest  to  General  Brooke  about  reopening  his  chapel 
in  October.  "  Must  he  have  two  services  a  Sunday  ?  Is 
not  oive  enough  ?  " — and  then  goes  on  to  speak  of  some 
brass  plates  he  has  bought  and  the  Bellinis  he  has  seen 
— things  which  Just  then  interest  him  much  more. 
From  Venice  he  goes  to  Verona,  and  here  finally,  and  it 
would  seem  somewhat  suddenly,  makes  up  his  mind 
to  give  up  Bedford  Chapel  altogether.  He  writes  to 
William : — 

"I  have  resolved  to  close  affairs  altogether.  Will 
you  tell  my  Mother  and  sisters  and  [elsewhere]  keep  it 
quiet  for  a  time.  ...  I  cannot  risk  the  standing  Sunday 
after  Sunday  nor  the  chance  of  another  illness  over- 
taking me  and  throwing  everything  out  of  gear  again. 
...  It  hurts  me  to  shut  up  these  volumes  of  the  book 
of  life  and  lay  them  on  the  shelf  for  ever ;  and  I  dread 
the  cessation  of  public  stress  on  a  lazy  temperament  like 
mine.  I  hope  I  shall  go  on  working  at  other  things  and 
not  subside  into  indifference." 

At  Baveno  his  health  improved  and,  as  usual  at 
such  times,  he  was  full  of  plans. 

"Now  that  I  am  free,"   he  writes   on  July  25th, 


PLANS  463 

"  I  project  a  trip  to  Gahvay  and  then  north  to  see 
Donegal  again.  I  suppose  I  shall  not  give  up  preaching 
altogether,  but  if  I  can  help  it  I'll  preach  no  more  in 
London.  I  should  like  to  deliver  small  series  of  sermons 
— six  at  a  time — in  the  Northern  towns.  I  am  really 
well  but  the  slightest  change  in  weather  sets  my  leg  in 
disturbance.  I  don't  mean  to  retire  altogether,  but  to 
keep  up  the  Chapel  any  more  was  to  keep  up  [such] 
tinancial  anxiety  as  would  have  made  spiritual  work  a 
burden  not  to  be  borne." 

To  his  sister  Honor,  to  whom  of  all  the  members  of 
his  family  he  was  wont  to  confide  most  of  his  inner  life, 
he  wrote  more  fully  on  August  5.  The  references  he 
makes  to  other  matters  show  the  return  of  his  interest 
in  Hfe. 

To  his  sister  Honor. 

"  Baveno.    Aug.,  '95. 

"...  Yes,  the  Chapel  is  now  given  up.  I  do  not 
know  what  will  come  of  this,  but  I  suppose  one  can 
make  of  it  what  one  wills,  only  Will  is  not  so  strong  at 
60  as  at  40,  and  the  one  trouble  is  that  I  have  always 
needed  an  outside  pull  to  drag  me  into  very  active  work. 
Professional  business,  even  as  little  as  one  Sunday's 
work,  steadies  the  Will.  I  may  now  do  as  I  like,  and 
you  know,  I  dare  say,  the  thousand  littlenesses  which 
tangle  morning  after  morning  when  there  is  no  absolute 
need  to  finish  work  by  a  certain  time.  However  we  shall 
see.  I  dare  say  I  shall  not  quite  give  up  preaching.  I 
must  go  into  the  Northern  towns,  but  I  think  I  shall 
preach  no  more  in  London.  As  to  literary  work,  there 
is  always  the  second  volume  of  the  History  of  English 
Poetry  to  do,  and  I  have  other  plans ;  but  life  has  lost 
a  great  deal  of  its  fire.  I  have  burnt  too  quickly,  soul 
and  body.  The  beauty  here  is  a  little  enervating.  All 
that  one  needs  is  laid  before  one  day  after  day.  There 
is  no  need  to  read  or  think  or  move.  The  eye  is 
enchanted  by  night  as  well  as  day,  and  what  the  eye 
sees  fills  the  soul  to  the  brim.    I  am  like  poor  Eve. 


464  LAST  YEABS  AT  BEDFORD  CHAPEL 

The  tree  is  pleasant  to  the  eyes,  and  I  need  no  more. 
...  It  is  well,  I  suppose,  to  return,  and  to  find  the 
hideousness  of  London  drive  one  back  to  thought  and 
act.  I  don't  pity  much  a  blind  man  in  London.  He 
has  his  soul,  and  the  liveliest  of  his  senses  is  not  tortured 
day  by  day. 

"  Eckermann's  book  ^  I  read  through  every  year.  In 
fact,  I  keep  it  always  at  hand.  Goethe  had  mastered 
life,  and  he  had  that  noblest  common  sense  which  is  one 
of  the  attributes  of  the  highest  genius;  the  common 
sense,  I  mean,  which  goes  down  to  the  mother-truths 
of  life  and  things.  I  advise  you  to  read  Horatio  Brown's 
Venetian  Studies.  I  suppose  you  are  enraptured  with 
your  Unionist  majority.  I  expect  it  is  somewhat  too  big 
for  them.  It  has  all  the  disadvantages  of  unlimited 
power.  I'm  glad  the  Liberals  are  out.  None  of  their 
leading  men  know  what  England  is  at  present,  nor  what 
either  Ireland,  Scotland,  or  Wales  really  wants.  Men 
want  some  more  happiness  and  some  more  justice,  some 
care  for  those  whom  money-making  has  made  miserable. 
The  Unionist  Government  is  pledged  to  do  some  of  this 
work.  We  shall  see  how  they  do  it.  If  they  do  it,  I, 
for  one,  have  no  objection  to  their  majority.  I  desire 
proper  social  legislation.  It  is  little  to  me  who  are  in, 
provided  I  get  that  desire  partly  fulfilled ;  and  I  think 
we  shall  get,  near  enough  at  present,  to  Home  Rule,  by 
a  Local  Government  Bill  for  Ireland  which  this  majority 
will  get  through." 

Returning  to  England  in  September  he  went  at  once 
to  Grasmere,  which  of  all  places  in  England  he  loved 
the  most,  and  for  a  few  weeks  he  was  in  good  health  and 
spirits.  It  was  at  this  time  that  an  event  occurred  that 
might  have  had  important  consequences  for  him  and 
for  others.  He  received  the  offer  of  the  Chaplaincy  of 
Manchester  College,  Oxford.  The  offer  was  made  to 
him  in  a  form  which  appealed  strongly  to  his  love  of 
the  College,  whose  principle  of  theological  freedom  he 

'  "  Conversations  of  Goethe." 


Brooke  in  the  Gardkn  op  Woudsworth's  Cottagk,  Geasmere,  1892. 

Fiom  <i  pholugrupk  I,;/  llcrhtrt  Bell,  Amhlenide. 


[To  face  page  464. 


i\rANCHESTEIl  COLLEGE,   OXFORD       465 

had  warmly  supported  for  many  years,  to  his  love  of 
preachhig  and  to  his  sense  of  duty ;  and  after  some  con- 
sideration it  was  accepted.  No  sooner,  however,  were 
the  arrangements  completed  than  his  old  enemy  returned 
with  a  fierceness  greater  than  ever.  For  four  months 
he  lay  a  prisoner  in  his  hotel,  suffering  incessant  and 
at  times  agonizing  pain.  With  uncomplaining  cheerful- 
ness he  bore  it,  glad  that  he  could  watch  the  mists  flying 
over  the  mountains  or  listen  to  the  sounds  of  the  Rothay 
running  beneath  his  windows,  and  full  of  thoughtfulness 
for  those  about  him  and  for  his  absent  friends.  But  as 
the  malady  tightened  its  grip  upon  him  and  his  weak- 
ness increased  he  felt  that  he  must  no  longer  bind  him- 
self to  any  engagement  involving  regular  work.  And  so, 
to  the  deep  regret  of  all  concerned,  and  to  his  own 
especially,  he  withdrew  his  acceptance  of  the  Chaplaincy, 

It  was  not  until  February,  '96,  that  he  sufficiently 
recovered  to  return  to  London.  After  that,  for  nearly 
eighteen  months,  his  time  was  mostly  spent  in  the 
country  or  abroad.  In  all,  the  interval  during  which 
he  neither  preached  nor  lectured  extended  to  over  two 
years.  His  first  appearance  in  the  pulpit  after  his 
recovery  was  in  the  Church  of  the  Messiah,  Birmingham, 
in  October,  '96. 

The  first  two  of  the  letters  which  follow  were  writtten 
from  his  couch  while  lying  disabled  in  the  Rothay  Hotel, 
Grasmere. 

To  his  sister  Honor, 

•'  Grasmere.  Dec.  30,  '95. 
'•  This  is  to  bear  to  you  and  to  all  in  [Dublin], 
and  above  all  to  my  beloved  Mother  my  New  Year 
greetings.  Peace,  mercy,  love  and  joy  be  to  you  all  from 
God  the  Father  and  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ.  "^This  is  also 
a  letter  to  yourself  in  answer  to  your  last  delightful 


466  LAST  YEARS  AT  BEDFORD  CHAPEL 

epistle.  What  I  have  to  answer  in  it,  I  do  not  know,  for 
I  cannot  leave  my  sofa  and  the  girls  are  out,  but  I'll  go 
on  on  my  own  hook  till  they  come  back.  I  have  been 
allowed  to  try  to  walk  from  the  bed  to  the  sofa,  but  as 
yet  it  has  been  a  failure.  I  sink  down,  powerless  to  get 
on.  However,  I  shall  persevere,  just  as  the  babies  do ; 
pushing  a  chair  before  me.  I'm  thinking  of  getting  a 
set  of  infantile  toys,  bricks  for  building,  a  train,  a  horse 
on  wheels,  a  Noah's  Ark,  and  a  box  of  chocolates  ! 
These,  being  in  character  with  the  state  of  my  legs,  will 
be  of  great  assistance,  I  conjecture.  But  the  girls,  with 
their  downright  common  sense,  by  which  they  maintain 
I  ought  to  be  guided,  prefer  massage  and  camphorated 
oil,  and  moving  my  legs  up  and  down  like  pistons. 
'  This  is  the  folly  of  science,'  I  reply ;  but  they  give  me 
no  answer,  only  go  on  rubbing  and  waggling  my  limbs, 
aggravating  indeed  !  No  one  but  the  helpless  know  what 
the  helpless  suffer  from  peculiarly  loving  persons.  It  is 
chiefly  in  the  subjugation  of  the  will  that  the  suffering 
consist ;  but  you  know  how  terrible  that  is.  .  .  . 

"  How  it  rains ;  and  through  the  open  window  steals 
the  hushing  murmur  of  the  waterfall  on  the  hill.  All 
else  is  palled,  and  the  white  mist  covers  the  earth,  and 
clings  like  a  shroud  to  its  dead  face.  But  there  is  no 
mist  in  me,  and  my  soul  is  in  sunshine  to-day.  So  let 
Nature  do  her  worst !  " 

To  his  sister  Honor. 

"  New  Year's  Day,  1896. 

"...  You  were  alone  when  you  wrote  your  letter  of 
ten  days  ago,  but  all  the  domestic  and  associated  things 
were  round  about  you,  and  you  were  not  alone.  That  is 
true.  It  is  missing  all  those  things  that  makes  the  lone- 
liness of  the  hours  after  death  seem  dreadful,  but  I 
believe  that  we  shall  be  so  delighted  that  we  shall  not 
miss  one  of  them.  Yet  that  seems  scarcely  human 
enough  to  be  true. 

"  The  Florentine  books  I  am  reading  are  Pasquale 
Villari's  Life  of  Savonarola  and  his  Lectures  on  the 
History  of  Florence  translated  by  Linda  Villari.    They 


THE   LOWELL  LECTUEES  467 

are  wonderful  books.  One  knows  nothing  of  Savonarola 
till  one  has  read  his  life.  It  has  profound  personal 
interest,  and  the  history  of  the  time  is  vividly  told. 
Get  them  from  your  library.  I  have  finished  up  all 
my  drawings  but  one,  and  that  I  cannot  work  at  in  this 
recumbent  position.  There  is  nothing  engrosses  me  so 
much.  If  I  could  give  to  other  things  the  ardour  I  give 
to  this,  I  should  do  twice  as  much  of  them,  but  I  don't 
much  care  now.  The  time  is  short,  and  all  that  I  do,  is 
transitory.  It  were  wise,  like  some  Buddhist,  to  put 
aside  all  things,  and  go  with  a  basket  and  a  stajff  and 
live  in  a  hermitage  and  learn  to  know  the  really  great 
things  whose  voices  one  cannot  hear  in  the  wailing  and 
shouting  of  the  world.  After  an  active  life,  a  few  years 
of  silence  in  contemplation,  that  were  wdse.  But  most 
of  us  go  out  of  the  world  in  as  great  a  noise  as  we  have 
lived,  full  of  cravings  and  desires,  into  a  world  where 
Love,  which  is  without  desire  save  desire  of  itself,  is  All 
in  All.  It  is  most  unfitting.  This  bit  of  philosophy  I 
enter  the  year  with,  and  so  I  share  it  with  you." 

He  had  preached  for  the  last  time  in  Bedford  Chapel  on 
the  first  Sunday  of  August,  1894.  Earlier  in  the  summer 
he  had  accepted  an  invitation  to  give  a  course  of  lectures 
on  English  Poetry  at  the  Lowell  Institute,  Boston,  U.S.A. 
On  August  5  he  wrote  a  letter  to  his  congregation  inform- 
ing them  that  he  would  be  away  on  this  errand  until 
the  beginning  of  the  New  Year ;  the  very  next  day  he 
was  taken  ill,  and  had  to  abandon  the  Lowell  Lectures, 
and  to  write  a  second  letter  to  his  congregation  post- 
poning his  return  till  the  following  May.  For  a  long 
time  he  did  not  recover  his  health,  except  in  brief 
snatches,  and  on  August  15,  under  circumstances  already 
related,  he  wrote  from  Geneva  the  parting  letter  which 
follows. 


468  LAST  YEARS  AT  BEDFORD  CHAPEL 


To  Ids  Congregation. 

"  Geneva.    August  16,  1895. 

"  It  was  with  great  regret  that  I  heard  in  my  absence 
that  circumstances,  combined  with  the  uncertainty  of 
my  continuous  health,  made  my  further  occupation  of 
Bedford  Chapel  at  this  time,  not  only  imprudent,  but 
in  the  judgment  of  those  who  best  knew  its  affairs, 
almost  impossible.  The  regret  I  feel  is,  however,  only 
felt  at  a  somewhat  earlier  period  than  necessary,  for  I 
should  have  been  obliged,  under  any  circumstances,  to 
give  up  the  Chapel  in  two  or  three  years.  It  seemed 
better  that  it  should  die  swiftly  rather  than  decay 
slowly. 

"  Nothing  remains  then  but  for  me  to  say  farewell 
to  those  whose  affection  and  attention  have  been  such 
faithful  companions  to  me  for  so  many  years.  Many 
who  were  with  me  at  the  first  have  passed  away,  and 
some  of  them  by  death.  Others  who  are  alive  remember 
Bedford  Chapel,  as  I  well  know,  with  steady  kindness ; 
many  still  remain,  and  they  will  feel,  as  I  feel,  a  tender 
regret  that  we  shall  meet  no  more  in  the  old  place  which 
has  sheltered  us  and  brought  us  together  in  sympathy 
for  so  long  a  time. 

"  It  is  nearly  twenty  years  since  I  began  to  speak  in 
Bedford  Chapel ;  and  a  long  debt  of  gratitude  is  due 
from  me  to  all  who  have  during  that  time  enabled  me 
from  Sunday  to  Sunday  to  preach  with  joy  and  eager- 
ness the  good  news  of  the  love  of  God  the  Father  as 
told  to  us  by  Jesus  Christ,  the  life  of  love  to  one  another 
which  follows  on  that  Gospel,  and  the  irradiation  by  it 
of  every  sphere  of  human  life  in  this  world  and  the  world 
beyond. 

"  I  offer  that  gratitude  and  steadfast  memory  of  their 
loving  kindness  to  all  to  whom  I  now  say  farewell.  The 
place  where  Bedford  Chapel  stands  will  soon  know  it  no 
more,  but  it  will  not  be  forgotten  by  you  or  by  me. 
There  has  been  in  it  too  much  interchange  of  feeling  for 
forgetfalness.     Though  we  say  farewell,  there  is  no  real 


DEATH   OF  WILLIAM  MORRIS  469 

farewell  for  those  who  have  been  so  bound  together  as 
you  and  I. 

"  Moreover,  I  trust  that  in  other  places  we  may  meet 
again.  I  do  not  mean  to  retire  from  the  duty  of  my  life. 
I  look  forward  with  the  happy  expectation  that  we  shall 
be  from  time  to  time  permitted  to  see  one  another  else- 
where than  in  Bedford  Chapel.— With  sincere  regret  and 
affection,  I  am,  ever  yours, 

"  Stopfokd  a.  Brooke." 

Soon  after  his  resignation  he  had  news  of  the  death 
of  hie  old  friend,  William  Morris.  He  felt  it  deeply,  and 
constantly  refers  to  it  in  the  letters  he  wrote  at  the 
time. 

To  his  son. 

"  Baveuo.     October  19,  /96. 

"...  I've  been  sorely  troubled  by  William  Morris 
death.  I  saw  him  some  months  ago  and  death  had 
sealed  him,  I  thought,  for  his  own.  But  I  vras  told  he 
was  better,  and  I  hoped.  Now  that  great  power  has 
left  us.  I  am  glad  he  has  seen  loveliness  at  last,  loveli- 
ness unstained.  None  ever  pursued  her  with  a  more 
unworldly  self-forgetful  heart.  But  I  am  sorry  for  us 
all  here,  in  this  dim  place,  that  he  has  gone.  Yet  he 
has  done  work  which  will  not  die,  and  done  it  with 
every  atom  of  his  strength  at  every  hour ;  so  that  not 
a  grain  of  it  will  be  lost.  There  was  nothing  the  w'orld 
wanted  so  much  as  beauty,  and  that  he  more  than  any 
other  has  given  to  the  world.  The  world  cannot  see  it 
yet,  but  it  will  see  it,  and  then  gratitude  to  him  will  be 
universal.  I  am  sorry  for  Burne  Jones.  He  will  be 
very  lonely,  and  sadness  will  cover  his  life.  He  sent  me 
a  message — '  write  to  me.'  I  have  written  and  I  shall 
see  him,  but  when  a  man  past  sixty  loses  his  life-long 
friend  who  was  knit  to  him  by  a  thousand  thousand 
threads  of  thought  and  work  and  passion  and  com- 
panionship, it  is  the  greatest  of  all  losses,  and  leaves  the 
greatest  gulf  within." 


470     LAST   YEARS   AT  BEDFORD  CHAPEL 
To  his  daughter  Honor. 

"  Baveno,     October,  '96. 

"...  Morris'  death  has  affected  me  very  much.  I 
don't  think  the  world  knows  how  great  he  was,  nor  will 
realize  for  many  years  to  come  how  much  he  has  done, 
and  how  great  an  originator  he  was.  He  will  take  in 
the  future  a  much  higher  place  than  either  Rossetti  or 
Burne  Jones.  A  strange  creature — not  of  tins  world  of 
ours.  And  those  who  are  of  the  world  will  not  know, 
because  they  cannot,  what  he  was." 


BOOK   V 
THE   SECOND   HAKVEST 

CHAPTER  XXIII 

A    RENEWAL    OF    YOUTH 

"  I  know  so  many  old  men  who  have  much  deeper  feeling  for  life 
and  keener  desire  to  get  out  of  it  its  treasures  than  the  young  men 
whom  I  meet  possess.  They  are  even  more  reckless  than  the  young 
men.  Whether  this  arise  from  many  of  them  having  no  belief  in 
immortality,  and  therefore  being  determined  to  wring  the  last  drop 
out  of  the  sponge  of  life — or  whether  it  arise  from  their  indelible 
immortality  emerging  amid  the  decay  of  the  body — I  do  not  know. 
But  I  do  know  it  seems  to  me  strange  in  contrast  to  the  studied 
apathy  and  boredom  of  life  which  I  meet  so  frequently  among  the 
young,  and  which  bores  me  by  its  contact  to  extinction.  Those 
follow  the  gleam :  these  never  see  a  ray  of  it.^'— (Diary,  January  11, 
1898.) 

Had  Brooke  passed  from  the  scene  in  '95 — and  for  a 
time  this  seemed  not  unlikely — it  might  have  been 
claimed  that  a  long  and  full  life  had  been  granted  him, 
and  that  he  had  done  his  work.  But  a  second  harvest 
was  to  follow,  a  long  period  of  self -recollection,  in  which 
he  gathered  up  the  fruits  of  his  experience,  and  ex- 
pressed them  in  new  forms.  As  he  entered  upon  old 
age  there  camo  to  him  a  renewal  of  youth  in  the  inward 
man. 

In  the  old  age  of  Brooke  hope  was  more  active  than 
memory :  it  was  one   of  those   sunsets  which  resemble 

VOL.  II.  I 


472  A   RENEWAL   OF   YOUTH 

the  dawn.  As  the  years  passed  on  between  1895  to  his 
death  m  1916  there  was  a  gradually  deepening  quietude ; 
but  it  was  a  quietude  of  preparation,  as  though  he 
were  making  ready  for  a  great  adventure  into  worlds 
unknown. 

"  Read  more  Calderon,  who  always  amuses  me,"  he 
writes,  "  Wish  I  knew  Spanish,  and  would  learn  it 
were  it  worth  while  so  close  to  the  land  where  the 
Immortals  have  only  one  language.  And  that  I  know 
already  having  spoken  it  before  I  was  incarnated.  In  this 
muddy  vesture  of  decay  I  have  forgotten  it,  but  it  lies 
perdu,  and  will  rise  quite  ready  to  my  tongue."  ^  "I 
have  many  projects,  and  it  is  these  I  think  of  instead 
of  winding  up  all  the  affairs  of  the  past  and  setting 
things  in  order.  There  are  many  loose  ends  which 
ought  to  be  taken  up  and  fitted  into  the  web  of  life ;  but 
I  do  not  like  looking  into  the  past  or  the  present.  The 
future  is  my  interest,  and  as  long  as  I  see  myself  alive 
in  it  I  think  of  nothing  else."  ^  "  These  days  are  long 
uneventful  fast  slipping  away  things.  .  .  .  However,  I 
am  never  bored,  never  weary  of  life,  never  without  an 
interest."  ^ 

As  early  as  1888  there  is  an  entry  in  the  same  vein. 

"Called  on  Miss  H.  .  .  .  She  talked  of  her  youth 
which  she  remembered  well.  Mine  is  all  but  forgotten. 
My  life  has  been  divided  into  Acts,  and  the  first  Act  is 
not  remembered  by  the  second,  nor  the  second  by  the 
third,  nor  the  third  by  the  fourth.  As  I  look  back  each 
is  like  a  laud  of  misty  mountains  seen  in  dreams." 

As  one  reads  through  the  diaries  of  the  later  years 
the  impression  grows  that  his  inner  joyousness  is  be- 
coming deeper,  more  self-sustained,  less  subject  to 
fluctuations  of  mood,  less  dependent  on  external  things. 

^  Diary,  December  11,  1906. 
^  Diary,  January  1,  1905. 
s  Diary,  January  25,  1899. 


A  NEW  INTEREST  473 

His  self-utterance  is  more  intimate  and  more  restrained ; 
he  would  rather  write  a  page  in  his  diary  than  preach 
a  sermon ;  he  would  rather  sit  on  a  stone  by  a  rippling 
stream  than  stand  on  a  mountain  top ;  he  cares  nothing 
for  disputation ;  the  strife  of  parties  and  creeds  is  phan- 
tasmal ;  he  is  out  of  it  all ;  but  nature  is  lovelier  than 
ever,  and  art  more  evidently  supreme.  And  with  this 
we  observe  a  deepened  personal  tenderness  and  a  more 
instant  craving  for  the  love  of  others. 

And  yet  the  impulse  which  drove  him  forward  had 
by  no  means  spent  its  force.  When  close  upon  sLxty  he 
acquired,  if  he  did  not  actually  master,  a  new  art,  and 
in  the  joy  of  its  pursuit  he  seemed  to  go  back  to  the 
morning  of  his  life.  We  are  again  reminded  of  the 
words  already  quoted  which,  better  than  any  others 
spoken  by  him,  provide  the  master  key  to  his  character 
— "  and  so,  whether  in  life  or  death,  in  this  world  or 
any  other,  we  will  pursue,  we  will  overtake,  we  will 
divide  the  spoil." 

It  was  in  '89,  when  taking  a  prolonged  rest  near 
Whitby,  that  Brooke,  as  he  watched  one  of  his  daughters 
at  work  upon  a  water-colour,  was  suddenly  seized  by  the 
desire  to  try  his  own  hand  upon  landscape.  Without  a 
moment's  delay  he  went  into  the  town,  bought  a  painter's 
outfit  and  set  to  work.  He  had  learnt  to  draw  and  to 
colour  when  he  was  a  boy ;  but  since  then  he  had  received 
no  professional  instruction,  and  except  for  stray  sketches 
in  note-books  or  on  fly-leaves,  some  of  them  exquisite 
enough,  he  had  done  nothing  to  exercise  his  gift. 
Pictures,  of  course,  had  been  his  daily  companions ;  his 
house  was  hung  with  them  from  top  to  bottom ;  he  had 
known  and  loved  the  great  painters  all  his  life,  Turner 
chief  of  all ;  and  he  had  shown  himself  a  master  in  the 
interpretation  of  their  work.   He  had  yet  to  show  that  he 


474  A  RENEWAL   OF  YOUTH 

was  himself  a  landscape  painter  who,  if  fortune  had  been 
favourable,  might  have  won  his  place  among  the  great. 

His  first  attempts,  though  crude  in  comparison  with 
what  followed,  surprised  his  friends.  One  and  all  en- 
couraged him  to  go  on,  little  as  the  encouragement  was 
needed.  Beginning  to  paint  in  earnest  in  the  early 
nineties  he  quickly  acquired  a  skill  and  freedom  which 
appeared  to  competent  judges  almost  incredible.  In  1897 
four  of  his  pictures  were  exhibited  at  the  New  Gallery, 
Regent  Street.  By  that  time  painting  had  become  one 
of  the  preoccupations  of  his  life,  reducing,  perhaps,  the 
amount  of  literary  work  he  would  otherwise  have  been 
able  to  produce.  In  a  letter  already  given  (January,  '96) 
he  writes  from  his  couch  to  his  sister  Honor,  "  there  is 
nothing  that  engrosses  me  so  much." 

Most  of  his  pictures  were  works  of  imagination, 
guided  by  memory,  and  aided  by  rapid  studies  made  in 
the  open  air.  He  painted  them  in  his  study  at  Man- 
chester Square,  or  in  his  den  at  Bedford  Chapel,  where 
the  light,  such  as  it  was,  happened  to  be  favourable  to  a 
painter's  work.  Later  on,  when  he  lived  in  Surrey,  he 
built  a  large  studio  where  he  continued  to  paint  almost 
to  the  end.  Never  was  he  happier  than  when  engaged 
at  his  easel,  except  perhaps  when  he  was  giving  away  his 
pictures  to  his  friends.  It  was  work  done  for  pure  joy, 
and  when  in  the  last  months  of  his  life  pain  in  his 
limbs  made  it  difficult  to  hold  the  brush,  his  distress 
was  great  and  pathetic.  "  It  troubles  me  that  I  cannot 
paint,"  is  a  constant  refrain  in  his  last  letters.  On 
the  night  before  he  died  he  said,  "  My  mind  is  full  of 
pictures.     I  have  many  ideas  I  wish  to  embody." 

The  following  note  on  his  paintings  has  been  sent  to 
me  by  Mr  William  Rothenstein,  one  of  the  best  loved  of 
his  artist  friends  in  later  life. 


BROOKE  AS  A  PAINTER  475 

"  The  year  before  he  died  Stopford  Brooke  was  urged 
by  his  friends  to  bring  together  some  of  the  panels 
which,  during  the  greater  leisure  he  enjoyed  during  the 
later  years  of  his  life,  it  delighted  him  to  paint.  These 
small  pictures  represented  memories  of  his  early  travels 
and  wanderings  on  the  Continent.  I  used  to  marvel  at 
his  power  of  evoking  these  memories.  He  was  able  to 
set  them  down  in  a  modest  but  very  adequate  way,  with 
a  fine  sense  of  landscape  composition,  which  seemed  to 
come  to  him  naturally. 

"  It  was  always,  in  his  company,  a  pleasure  to  go 
through  these  panels,  so  obviously  the  outcome  of  his 
own  delight  in  the  beauty  of  the  face  of  the  world. 

"  These  memories  of  wide  prospects,  of  lakes,  and 
mountains  and  wild  sea  coasts,  set  one  longing  to  go 
out  into  the  world  like  one  of  Hans  Andersen's  heroes. 
Much  as  he  valued  detail  in  the  works  of  his  favourite 
painters,  his  own  mind  was  apt  to  store  up  the  flush 
and  opulence  of  a  scene  rather  than  to  dwell  on  the 
intenser  side  of  particular  forms.  Nor  indeed  did  he 
treat  his  gifts  otherwise  than  as  a  means  for  a  fascinating 
occupation,  much  as  it  pleased  him  to  have  any  one, 
especially  an  artist,  interested  in  them.  At  first  he  was 
attracted  by  the  idea  of  bringing  a  number  of  his  paint- 
ings together  in  one  of  the  smaller  London  galleries ;  but 
on  reflection  he  rejected  it.  He  felt  that  his  panels 
were  done  for  his  own  pleasure  only,  and  were  not 
accomplished  or  profound  enough  to  merit  the  serious 
attention  of  strangers. 

"  Perhaps  he  judged  wisely :  for  there  is  to-day 
little  sense  of  the  meaning  and  value  of  amateur  work. 
An  amateur  he  was,  in  the  true  sense  of  the  word,  a 
lover  indeed  of  the  ample  and  lovely  things  of  life,  and 
all  that  he  did  reflected  his  devotion.  It  was  not  on 
account  of  his  treatment,  but  through  the  subjects  them- 
selves, that  his  pictures  were  often  so  delightful.  The 
woods  he  painted,  the  Italian  lakes  and  mountains,  the 
menacing  rocks  and  bays  of  Ireland  and  Cornwall,  were 
real  things  to  him — so  real  that  he  did  not  feel  the  need 
of  making  them  interesting ;  it  was  enough  for  him  to 


476  A  RENEWAL   OF   YOUTH 

set  down  as  much  as  he  could  of  the  radiance  and 
glamour  of  the  scene  he  had  in  mind,  and  I  envied  him 
his  gift  of  evoking  this  radiance  and  this  glamour." 

From  now  onwards  the  sequence  of  outward  events 
is  relatively  unimportant,  and  there  are  no  more  of  those 
critical  turning  points  at  which  decisive  action  reveals  the 
man.  But  at  no  period  is  the  personal  record  of  greater 
interest.  Of  the  last  twenty  years  of  Brooke's  life,  it 
may  be  said  with  confidence  that  never  was  his  spirit  so 
clear,  his  presence  so  radiant,  his  self-expression  so 
intense,  his  whole  personality  so  rich  in  emanations  that 
charmed  and  inspired.  His  outward  man  acquired  a  new 
dignity  and  force,  so  that  a  certain  majesty  surrounded 
him.  His  face  assumed  the  lines  of  strong  repose,  the 
mouth  grew  firmer  and  the  eye,  always  kindled  and 
steady,  seemed  to  direct  its  glance  on  objects  further 
afield.  His  interest  in  the  world  was  changing  its  form, 
passing  more  and  more  from  the  temporal  to  the  eternal ; 
but  it  suffered  no  diminution  and  was  abundantly  ex- 
pressed in  his  diaries,  his  letters,  and  his  personal 
intercourse. 

The  material  available  for  this  period  is  richer  and 
more  varied  than  for  any  other  of  equal  length ;  the 
diaries  alone,  which  begin  to  be  continuous  from  1898, 
furnishing  a  veritable  mine  of  self-revelations,  partly 
direct,  and  partly  indirect  through  comments  on  men, 
books,  events,  places  and  things.  These  it  is  impossible 
to  summarize.  So  much  of  them  as  can  be  reproduced 
within  the  limits  of  this  book  will  be  presented  later  on. 

Between  1903  and  1913  there  were  domestic 
sorrows  which  left  profound  marks  on  Brooke.  These 
were  the  death  of  his  mother  in  1903,  of  his  brother 
William  in  1907,  of  his  brother  Edward  in  1909,  and  of 
his  sister  Honor  in  1913.     Each  loss,  as  it  occurred,  "  cut 


EDWAKD   BROOKE  477 

down,"  he  said,  "  to  the  very  roots  of  my  life."  Of  the 
four  I  think  it  was  the  death  of  Edward  (Major-General 
Brooke)  which  struck  deepest.  With  William  his  rela- 
tions had  been  more  intimate  in  early  life  ;  but  William 
continued  to  live  in  Ireland,  and  the  two  saw  one 
another  only  at  intervals.  Edward,  who  had  spent  much 
of  his  life  in  distant  parts  of  the  world,  came  to  live  in 
London  soon  after  his  retirement  from  the  Army  in 
1886,  and  from  that  time  onwards  the  relations  of  these 
brothers  were  very  close.  They  loved  each  other  deeply 
and  reverently,  had  many  interests  and  occupations  in 
common,  and  were  as  playmates  together  even  in  their 
old  age.  Unlike  William,  Edward  was  not  the  intellectual 
equal  of  his  elder  brother;  but  a  more  charming  com- 
panion was  nowhere  to  be  found.  He  overflowed  with 
kindness,  humour  and  bonhomie ;  and  in  his  humility 
and  self-effacement  often  reminded  his  friends  of 
Colonel  Newcome.^    When  he  died  Brooke  said  to  me 

'  If  this  were  the  fitting  place  I  would  gladly  present  a  fuller  account 
of  this  gallant  gentleman,  for  he  was  a  notable  personality  and  will 
never  be  forgotten  by  those  who  knew  him.  The  following  extract 
from  the  Dublin  Evening  Mail  of  March  4,  1861,  refers  to  an  exploit  of 
his  during  the  Maori  War. 

'•  Brevet-Major  Brooke. 

"  Among  the  many  promotions  for  service  in  Now  Zealand  we  are 
happy  to  notice  the  name  of  Captain  (now  Brevet-Major)  Brooke.  This 
gallant  young  officer  is  son  of  the  Rev.  R.  S.  Brooke,  D.D.,  for  many 
years  minister  of  the  Mariners'  Church,  Kingstown.  Major  Brooke 
accompanied  the  stormers  as  Engineer  officer  in  charge  of  the 
storming  of  the  Maori  entrenchments  at  Rangariri  on  the  20th  of  Nov. 
last.  He  received  a  slight  wound  in  the  hand,  which  did  not  incapaci- 
tate him  from  duty  ;  and  at  a  later  period  in  the  day,  by  throwing  up 
an  earthwork,  which  provided  cover  for  a  rescuing  party,  he  was  the 
means  of  removing  Capt.  Mercer,  R.A.,  and  many  wounded  men  who 
were  lying  in  a  trench  at  some  distance  from  the  main  body  of  our 
troops.  At  midnight  of  the  same  day  Major  Brooke  as  a  volunteer,  and 
accompanied  by  General  Cameron's  orderly,  mounted  to  the  parapet  of 


478  A  RENEWAL   OF  YOUTH 

"  I  belong  no  more  to  this  world  " — and  from  that  time 
onwards  the  phrase  was  often  on  his  lips.  The  letters 
referring  to  these  bereavements  will  be  found  in  their 
place. 

There  is  also  a  record  of  literary  activity,  of  lecturing 
and  preaching,  and  of  artistic  creation,  sufficiently  re- 
markable in  one  who,  as  time  is  reckoned,  was  becoming 
an  old  man.  In  all  seventeen  books  were  published 
between  1896  and  1913.  "Wordsworth's  Poems  of 
Independence  and  Liberty  "  (1897),  "  English  Literature 
from  the  Beginning  to  the  Norman  Conquest"  (1898), 
"  Religion  in  Literature  and  Life  "  (1900),  "  Introduction 
to  the  Treasury  of  Irish  Poetry  "  (1900),  "  King  Alfred  " 
(1901),  '*  Browning  "  (1902),  "  On  Ten  Plays  of  Shake- 
speare "  (1905),  "Studies  in  Poetry"  (1907),  "Intro- 
duction to  Wordsworth"  (1907),  "The  Sea  Charm  of 
Venice  "  (1907),  "  Four  Poets"  (1908),  "  Ten  more  Plays 
of  Shakespeare"  (1913).  In  addition  to  these  were  five 
volumes  of  Sermons  :  *'  The  Old  Testament  and  Modern 
Life"  (1896),  "  The  Gospel  of  Joy"  (1898),  "The  King- 
ship of  Love  "  (1903),  "  The  Life  Superlative  "  (1906), 
"  The  Onward  Cry  "  (1911). 

Much  of  the  matter  contained  in  the  first  group  of 
volumes  was  originally  given  in  the  form  of  public 
lectures  at  various  centres  in  London,  chiefly  in 
University  College.  For  five  winters  (1900-1905)  great 
audiences  gathered  to  hear  him  in  the  theatre  of 
the  College.  His  subjects  covered  the  whole  range  of 
English  Poetry  from  Shakespeare  to  Browning.  "  To  me," 
writes  one  who  heard  them  all,  "  they  were  more  than 
lectures   on   English    literature.      They  were   spiritual 

the  Maori  keep  to  reconnoitre,  where  the  orderly  was  killed  at  his  side. 
For  these  services  he  '  was  warmly  complimented  by  Sir  Duncan 
Cameron  in  dispatches.'  Major  Brooke  was  gazetted  in  July,  1855,  to 
the  Engineers  and  received  his  company  in  July,  1862." 


HIS   LITERARY  CRITICISM  479 

experiences.  They  lifted  us  into  a  higher  world.  They 
were  the  dawn  of  a  new  life  to  many." 

Of  these  lectures  he  writes  in  his  diary  for  1899,  "  I 
don't  much  believe  in  lecturing.  I  think  lectures  do 
little  good.  Nor  do  I  much  believe  in  writing  about  the 
poets.  I've  done  a  good  deal  of  it,  but  I  might  have  been 
better  employed.  Yet  if  one  can  induce  a  few  to  read 
poetry  wisely  and  well,  if  one  can  make  a  few  see  and 
feel  the  beauty  of  the  best  poetry,  why  then,  one  has 
done  some  good.  And  of  that  I  hope  I  have  done  a  little. 
But  what  a  gulf  there  is  between  writing  poetry  and 
writing  about  it !  " 

I  shall  make  no  attempt  to  appraise  the  literary 
merit  of  this  work,  but  content  myself  with  pointing  out 
what  is  of  greater  importance  to  the  purpose  of  a  bio- 
grapher, namely,  that  in  all  Brooke's  literary  criticism 
there  is  a  strong  reflection  of  his  own  inner  life.  This 
is  in  some  degree  true  of  all  the  great  critics,  but  I  know 
of  none  whose  work  brings  us  into  such  direct  contact 
with  the  essential  personality  of  its  author.  It  is 
literally  true  that  Brooke  put  himself,  in  all  his  length, 
breadth  and  depth,  into  everything  that  he  wrote,  as  he 
did  into  everything  that  he  preached.  "  You  only,"  he 
writes  to  Mrs  Crackanthorpe  in  1902,  *'  of  all  the  people 
who  have  spoken  to  me  [of  my  '  Browning ']  have 
recognized  how  much  of  myself  is  in  the  book,  and  that 
its  interest  to  me  is  there,  and  less  in  that  which  I  have 
said  about  Browning,  and  it  was  balm  to  my  soul  that 
some  one  had  seen  that." 

His  work  on  the  history  of  Early  English  Literature 
was  essentially  a  labour  of  love.  In  his  diary  for 
November  28, 1898  there  is  the  following  note  : — 

"If  one  wants  repute  one  ought  not  to  write  about 
Early  English.     No  one  cares  the  scale  of  a  stale  fish 


480  A  RENEWAL   OF   YOUTH 

about  it.  However,  I  took  infinite  pains  about  that  book, 
and  in  time  to  come  it  will  be  read.  Tlmt  I  know  and  I 
don't  care,  if  I  know  that,  for  present  reputation.  I  never 
had  much  desire  to  see  the  fruit  of  the  trees  I  plant.  I 
am  absolutely  sure  that  what  is  good  will  live  on  and 
that  what  is  not  good  will  die — and  that  is  what  I  desire." 

When  the  public  announcement  of  Brooke's  retire- 
ment was  made  in  1895  there  was  not  only  dismay  but 
surprise,  for  few  people  knew  how  serious  was  the 
physical  disability  under  which  he  laboured.  James 
Martineau  told  him  that  "  it  was  a  disaster."  His 
stalwart  appearance,  his  clear  and  ruddy  countenance, 
his  joyous  and  animated  manner  negatived  the  idea  of 
enfeeblement  or  decay ;  and  many  letters  of  his  friends 
are  before  me  which  deplore  his  retirement  almost  in 
terms  of  indignation. 

On  January  23,  1899,  he  writes  thus  of  himself : — 

"  I  set  to  work  at  once  on  my  lecture  [on  Browning], 
which  is  difficult  to  get  into  order,  and  has  to  be  carefully 
written  from  end  to  end.  For  this  ...  I  have  to  give 
up  what  really  pleases  me  to  do.  But  perhaps  that  is  a 
good  in  itself,  and,  after  all,  I  manage  to  get  what  pleases 
me  done  in  the  interstices  of  this  secondary  work  which 
all  my  friends  think  primary.  They  walk  in  a  vain 
show  and  disquiet  themselves  in  vain  about  me.  I 
know  where  I  am,  and  were  I  young,  I  would  take  my 
own  way  at  every  risk.  But  it  is  not  worth  while  now. 
It  is  better  to  please  and  be  quite  kind,  in  old  age,  to 
the  world,  if  it  does  not  ask  me  to  form  part  of  its 
society  or  to  follow  its  conventions.  What  I  can  do, 
I  do.  But  I  will  take  no  trouble  whatever  to  gain  its 
praise,  or  to  repel  its  blame,  or  to  answer  its  foolish 
allegations.  Let  the  dogs  bark  as  they  will.  Some, 
who  call  themselves  my  friends,  are  the  worst  of  all. 
They  abuse  me  to  myself — very  tiresome  indeed,  and 
very  bad  manners.  But  it  begins  and  ends  with  me, 
and  it  gives  them  the  pleasing  sensation  that  they  are 


A  LITTLE   INDIGNATION  481 

faithful  to  truth  and  to  me.  I  say  nothing.  Why 
should  I  disturb  myself  about  their  little  vanities '? 
These  also  take  my  defence  on  their  shoulders,  and 
relate  to  me  what  they  defend  me  against — very  tire- 
some also.  And  to  be  defended  by  such  persons  is 
worse  than  being  blamed  by  them.  I  can  bear  their 
barking  at  me,  but  I  find  it  hard  to  bear  caressing." 

And  again  on  October  8  he  writes  : — 

"  They  tell  me  that  they  want  me  very  badly  [to 
preach  in  London],  that  my  teaching,  etc.,  is  necessary, 
and  all  that ;  but  they  have  had  me  for  more  than  thirty 
years,  and  it  is  time  that  they  should  stand  alone  and  do 
what  they  have  heard.  And  I  meet  a  number  of  them, 
and,  as  far  as  I  can  see,  they  are  as  far  from  self-forget- 
fulness  as  ever.  Most  of  those  who  say  they  want  me 
badly  are  twisting  and  turning  incessantly  in  the 
labyrinth  of  their  own  spiritual  entrails,  and  at  every 
moment  remembering  their  self :  sitting  down  (to 
change  that  ugly  metaphor)  in  their  own  shadow  with 
vain  complacency.  And  all  they  want  of  me  is  to  wake 
them  up  a  bit  when  they  are  tired  of  themselves.  Of 
course  there  are  many  who  are  comforted  and  who  want 
[comfort],  but  they  are  silent.  Those  who  belabour  me 
with  appeals  to  go  on  doing  '  my  great  work  ' — a  sicken- 
ing phrase — in  London  are  the  self-vivisecting  souls, 
and  I  often  lose  patience  with  them.  Yet  God  bears 
with  them,  and,  if  I  loved  enough,  I  should  be  more 
patient." 

"  I  made  my  sermons  to-day,"  he  writes  on  April  7, 
1899.  "  On  Sunday  night  I  shall  be  free  of  discoursing 
for  some  months.  Alas,  I  have  a  great  deal  to  write 
during  this  time  which  they  call  my  holiday  I  have  to 
finish  the  lectures  of  Browning.  I  have  to  write  an 
elaborate  lecture  on  the  '  Celt '  [for  the  Irish  Literary 
Society].  I  have  to  write  for  '  Chambers'  Encyclopedia  ' 
the  history  of  the  early  times  of  English  Literature. 
And  I  want  to  begin  a  life  of  Christ."  ^ 

^  This,  though  often  meditated  in  succeeding  years,  was  never 
carried  out. 


482  A  RENEWAL   OF  YOUTH 

During  the  ten  or  twelve  years  which  followed  the 
closing  of  Bedford  Chapel  Brooke's  attitude  to  his  public 
work  was  constantly  changing;  and  the  changes  illus- 
trate the  currents  of  impulse  that  were  always  active  in 
his  character.  Again  and  again  he  seemed  on  the  point 
of  giving  up  the  pulpit  altogether.  In  these  years  his 
health  suffered  acutely  from  the  climate  of  London ;  and 
the  ugliness  of  so  many  of  its  sights  and  sounds  caused 
him  a  physical  distress  which  only  those  who  possess 
his  temperament  can  understand.  The  climate  and  the 
ugliness  acting  together  lowered  his  vitality  and  brought 
constant  illness  in  their  train.  Meanwhile  the  desire 
for  a  life  "  close  to  the  heart  of  nature,"  which  he  was 
entirely  free  to  gratify,  was  strong  and  urgent.  But  no 
sooner  were  the  first  steps  taken  to  this  end  than  his 
sense  of  duty  would  call  him  back.  On  one  occasion  in 
the  late  nineties  he  let  his  house  in  Manchester  Square 
and  made  his  arrangements  for  living  elsewhere — only 
to  cancel  the  negotiations  when  they  were  on  the  point 
of  completion  and  return  once  more  to  his  London  life. 
Much  as  he  enjoyed  preaching  and  lecturing  when 
actually  engaged  in  them,  he  had  no  antecedent  wish  to 
appear  in  the  pulpit  or  on  the  platform,  and  would  often 
say,  though  he  was  certainly  mistaken,  that  he  could 
abandon  either  or  both  without  a  sense  of  serious  loss. 
"  He  had  plenty  of  other  things  to  do,  and  to  love."  This, 
most  assuredly,  was  true.  It  did  not  mean,  however, 
that  he  could  live  without  preaching ;  for  the  "  other 
things  "  he  did  and  loved  fed  the  impulse  which  drove 
him  into  the  pulpit.  It  meant  that  his  temperament 
was  repugnant  to  the  merely  professional  side  of  his 
work.  I  doubt  if  the  man  has  ever  lived  to  whom  it 
gave  less  pleasure  to  hear  himself  called  "  Rabbi." 

For   professionalism   of  all   kinds   he  had   a  great 


PROFESSIONALISM  IN   RELIGION        483 

dislike ;  professionalism  in  religion  he  positively  hated. 
He  lived  in  the  preachers'  world  only  when  he  had  to 
preach  ;  at  other  times  he  looked  upon  it  in  a  spirit 
of  detachment,  and  saw  its  limitations.  Nothing  amused 
him  more  than  the  notion,  which  some  preachers  seem 
to  acquire,  that  the  world  exists  for  the  purpose  of 
providing  "  lessons,"  or  subjects  for  sermons.  Indeed, 
one  of  the  secrets  of  his  power  as  a  preacher  lay  in  his 
freedom  from  this  strange  delusion — in  the  facility  of 
his  access  to  ideal  worlds  which  are  barred  to  the  purely 
clerical  mind.  Thereby  he  was  enabled  to  enrich  his 
message  with  the  spoils  of  a  many-sided  experience. 

"  Dr. appeared,"  he  writes  in  one  of  his  diaries, 

"  and  would  talk  on  theology.  He  is  on  a  holiday,  and 
preaches  three  times  a  week  in  various  places.  Curious, 
this  itch  for  preaching."  And  again  :  "  I  wrote  a  sermon 
after  beginning  two.  It  was  very  uncanny.  Here  am  I, 
who  have  been  plunged  in  Anglo-Saxon  Literature  and 
History  for  two  months,  turning  again  to  the  old  matters 
with  a  strange  sense  of  unaccustomedness.  I  feel  as  if 
I  were  talking  of  something  absolutely  new.  This 
capacity  of  forgetting,  this  Lethe  which  is  always 
running  at  hand,  and  into  which  I  can  always  plunge — 
that  is  not,  I  think,  a  good  thing.  The  one  advantage 
it  has  is  that  life  is  always  fresh.  Poetry  which  I  wrote 
at  Tintagel  seems  as  far  away  as  a  comet.  I  feel  as  if  I 
had  never  written  a  line  of  it." 

At  no  time  was  the  slightest  trace  to  be  seen  in 
Brooke  of  that  clerical  manner  which  seems  to  say,  "  My 
business  in  life  is  to  improve  the  occasion."  Its  presence 
in  others  never  failed  to  provoke  his  merriment,  which 
is  recorded  in  many  a  wise  and  witty  passage  of  his 
later  diaries.  For  himself  he  had  no  wish  to  be  taken 
for  a  preacher.  "  I  met  P.,"  he  writes,  with  evident 
pleasure,    in    1898 ;    " '  What,'    he    said,    *  are    you    a 


484  A  RENEWAL   OF  YOUTH 

clergyman  ?  '  "  And  again  a  little  later,  "As  to  the  Bishop, 
he  was  fully  aproned,  gaitered,  and  hatted  in  harmony. 
I  walked  down  Stephen's  Green  with  him,  and  I  could 
see  he  was  faintly  distressed  by  walking  with  a  tall  man 
in  shooting  costume,  smoking  a  cigar." 

He  could  not  understand,  so  he  often  told  me,  why 
morality,  of  all  things  in  the  world,  should  wear  the 
longest  face.  "  These  airs  of  preternatural  solemnity 
suggest  that  there  is  something  wrong  with  morality — 
or  is  it  with  religion  ?  " 

"  Preached  on  the  necessity  of  adding  spiritual  beauty 
to  moral  usefulness,  and  on  its  being  higher  than 
moral  \i8efulness.  No  one  cared  for  the  sermon— I 
suppose  because  it  was  so  true  and  so  difficult  to  carry 
out.  That  is  not  vanity — that  sentence — it  is  vexation. 
But  no  one  knew  that  I  was  vexed.  I  care  for  that 
view  of  life  more  than  for  any  other  in  the  world.  It 
is  not  bad  training  to  have  one's  deepest  convictions 
rejected  ;  and  God  will  take  care  of  the  truth." 

This  was  written  in  1888,  and  fifteen  years  later, 
in  his  "  Myth  of  the  Three  Springs,"  which  I  shall 
presently  describe,  the  chief  water- sprite  addresses  him 
as  follows : — 

'*  What  you  call  your  conscience,"  she  said  with 
amusing  gravity,  "  is  always  in  the  way.  This  you 
cannot  do,  and  that  you  cannot  think ;  it  must  be  most 
disagreeable.  I  do  exactly  that  which  for  the  moment  I 
like  best ;  and  I  don't  find  that  I  do  more  harm  to  any 
one  of  my  people  than  the  very  best  of  your  ethical 
folk  do  to  their  fellow-men.  And  all  the  other  water- 
nymphs  do  just  what  occurs  to  them  to  be  the  pleasantest 
thing  for  the  moment,  and  the  result  on  the  whole  in  the 
water-world  is  excellent ;  no  oppression,  no  tyranny,  no 
power-hunger,  no  war,  none  of  the  horrors.  .  .  .  With 
all  your  boasted  conscience,  the  result  in  your  world 
of  your  efforts  to  obey  it  is  a  misery  of  which  we,  water- 


LESS   EAGER  TO   PREACH  485 

dwellers  who  have  no  souls,  have  not  a  trace.  ...  1 
believe  there  was  a  water  god  among  your  ancestors." — 
[Dian,,  1903.] 

As,  with  advancing  years,  his  hold  on  the  eternal 
things  grew  more  comprehensive,  Brooke  began  to  look 
upon  preaching  as  one  only,  and  perhaps  not  the  most 
important,  among  many  forms  in  which  his  spiritual 
life  could  find  expression.  True,  he  did  not  abandon 
the  pulpit — by  no  means  ;  but  he  would  preach  only 
when  he  felt  inclined,  and  as  the  years  passed  by  the 
inclination  diminished.  To  enjoy  God  in  his  own  soul 
seemed  to  him,  at  his  time  of  life,  a  higher  thing  than  to 
talk  about  religion  to  the  world.  "  Had  he  not  earned  the 
right  to  that  enjoyment?  And  how  better  could  he 
practise  what  he  had  been  preaching  for  so  many  years  ?  " 
Those  who  knew  him  only  in  the  pulpit  did  not  under- 
stand this,  and  naturally  concluded  that  the  close  of  his 
regular  ministry  would  leave  him  at  a  loose  end.  Than 
this  notion  nothing  could  be  further  from  the  truth  ;  and 
there  are  many  traces  in  the  diaries  of  the  annoyance 
he  felt  whenever  he  encountered  it  among  his  admirers. 
Here  is  a  characteristic  passage  : — 

' '  There  are  a  number  [of  people]  who  go  about  moaning 
like  sea-calves  about  my  loss  .  .  .  and  about  the  work  I 
ought  to  do  in  London.  Their  wailings,  and  their  mean- 
ings, act  on  me  with  as  much  force  as  the  scuttering  of  a 
shoal  of  herrings  acts  on  the  bow  of  an  ocean  steamer." 
—[Diary,  November  29,  1898.] 

As  the  four  deaths  in  the  family  have  been  mentioned 
in  this  chapter,  I  shall  here  append  some  letters  and  the 
entries  in  the  diary  which  refer  to  these  events.  Mrs 
Richard  Brooke  died  at  the  age  of  91,  William  at  73, 
Edward  at  72,  Honor  at  71,  Stopford's  age  ranging 
meanwhile  from  71  to  81. 


486  A   RENEWAL   OF   YOUTH 

Death  of  Mrs  Richard  Brooke. 

Diary,  April  25,  1903.  **  A  telegram  came  about  1 
P.M.  to  say  that  my  Mother  died  peacefully  last  night. 
I  shall  go  to  Dublin.  ...  I  can  see  her  now,  and  a  fair 
vision  she  is.  I  wonder  if  she  is  now  talking  with  my 
Father,  and  does  he  know — and  did  he  meet  her  imme- 
diately? Oh,  what  a  tribe  of  questions  surge  up  like 
ghosts  on  a  resurrection  day !  Not  a  word,  not  a  word, 
not  a  breath,  not  on 3  intimation  from  that  world,  near  as 
the  very  heart,  but  far  as  the  remotest  space  to  thought." 

April  26,  1903.  "All  day  I  have  thought  of  my 
Mother,  lying  still  and  beautiful,  and  of  all  her  life,  and 
how  fair  it  was.  No  record  of  it  will  exist  save  in  our 
hearts.  But  all  she  did,  and  said  and  thought — is  it  not 
written  in  the  books  of  Paradise  ?  " 

May  2,  1903.  "  My  Mother's  memory  is  much  with 
me  to-day.  I  have  not  worn  mourning  for  her.  There 
is  the  sense  of  loss,  the  thought  that  I  shall  see  her  no 
more  on  earth,  nor  receive  her  kiss,  nor  hold  her  hand, 
nor  see  her  eyes  light  up  with  joy  and  eagerness,  but 
there  is  nothing  to  awaken  that  piteous  grief  which 
comes  of  broken  lives.  Her  life  was  lived  from  end  to 
end,  and  though  it  was  severely  tried  at  first,  its  later 
years  were  full  and  at  peace  and  wrapt  in  Love  like  a 
garment.  She  lived  for  others  and  others  lived  for  her. 
Love  had  her  perfect  work  in  that  household.  I  have 
seen,  and  I  thank  God,  the  Form  of  pure  Beauty,  such 
as  Plato  saw  not,  nor  Diotima  who  taught  Socrates  the 
best  he  knew." 

To  his  sister  Honor. 

"  Homburg.     May  12,  1903. 

"...  I  was  SO  glad,  as  I  have  said,  that  my  dear 
Mother's  death  was  without  pain  or  trouble,  peaceful  as 
a  child's  sleep.  It  is  the  way  Nature  or  rather  our  Father 
meant  us  all  to  die,  but  we  have  sought  out  many  inven- 
tions against  the  will  of  Nature  and  troubled  her  natural 
way  for  our  departure.  But  my  Mother  lived  as  temperate, 
as  simple,  as  obedient  a  physical  life  as  she  lived  a  noble, 


DOMESTIC   SORROWS  487 

sacred,  loving  and  spiritual  life,  in  the  beauty  and  grace 
and  self-sacrifice  of  Christ.  Some  way  as  I  think  of  her 
now,  it  is  of  her  old  age  and  her  youth  together  that  I 
think,  and  they  both  mingle  so  much  that  I  cannot 
isolate  the  one  from  the  other.  The  image  of  her  light 
and  radiant  figure  full  of  happy  excitement,  as  she  rode 
up  the  Shady  Avenue  [in  the  old  days  at  Kingstown]  mixes 
with  the  image  of  her  as  she  sat  on  the  sofa  near  me  at 
Herbert  Street  and  laughed,  and  talked  and  laid  her  hand 
on  mine  in  a  gracious  pleasure.  What  was  between  these 
two  is  rather  dim  to  my  poor  memory,  though  I  have 
many  visions,  but  her  old  age  and  her  youth  are  one  to 
me-  And  they  are  one  to  her  now.  I  wonder  if  my 
father  welcomed  her,  or  did  it  seem  otherwise  to  the 
great  Lover?  He  must  have  been  watching,  and  they 
will  have  another  honeymoon.  I  think  what  will  astonish 
us  most  when  we  get  into  the  life  to  come  will  be  the 
host  of  friends  whom  we  shall  meet,  many  whom  we 
have  never  known  on  earth,  a  thousand,  thousand  wel- 
comes. There  is  nothing  greater  than  the  Heimlichkeit 
of  Heaven.  We  shall  be  intimately  at  home.  I'm  glad 
her  mortal  body  is  in  the  earth.  I  shall  be  cremated, 
but  I  should  not  have  liked  it  for  her." 

Death  of  William  Brooke. 

Diary,  April  21,  1907.  "No  one  deserves  to  die 
more  happily  than  he,  for  he  has  lived  a  hfe  as  useful 
to  men  and  women  without,  as  it  was  pure  within.  To 
see  him  has  brought  very  close  to  me  my  own  departure, 
find  1  wonder  how  it  will  be  with  me,  who  have  never 
been  half  so  good  as  he  has  been,  who  have  so  much  to 
be  forgiven  ?  He  gave  me  a  silver  box.  As  I  embraced 
him,  he  said,  '  Take  it  as  a  mark  of  my  undying  love.'  I 
could  not  speak." 

April  22.  "  Oh,  as  I  see  him,  how  much  returns  to 
me !  those  bitter  days !  ^  They  seem  quite  fresh,  as  if 
they  were  but  yesterday." 

April  26.     "  I  am  much  happier  now  about  him.     He 

'  The  last  illness  of  his  wife. 
VOL.  II.  K 


488  A  RENEWAL   OF   YOUTH 

is  close  to  eternal  joy  and  peace,  and  he  is  fit  for  them. 
I  never  realize  so  fully  the  truth  of  immortal  life  as  I  do 
when  I  am  face  to  face  with  death.  It  seems  to  me  then 
ridiculous  to  distrust  it — a  dead  want  of  high  intelligence 
— and  that  William  should  be  released  from  this  body  of 
our  humiliation  is  my  earnest  prayer." 

April  28.  "  I  feel  quite  happy  when  I  think  of  him 
now,  after  the  vision  I  have  had  of  him  for  so  many  days. 
I  suppose  I  am,  in  getting  old,  less  liable  to  think  of  loss 
and  more  of  gain  when  I  consider  the  dead  I  have  loved. 
I  do  not  love  them  less,  but  even  more,  but  I  am  no 
longer  troubled  about  their  life.  They  are  with  the 
highest  Love ;  and  William  was  so  good,  true  and  loving 
that  he  will  be  crowded  with  enjoyment.  And  I  know 
he  was  looking  forward  to  meeting  my  Father  and  Mother. 
It  is  a  vast  blessing  in  these  hours  to  be  at  rest  about 
those  who  are  gone  from  us  and  alive  in  God.  And  I 
cannot  feel  grief  for  William.  I  dwell  in  his  happiness. 
But  I  am  sorry  when  I  think  I  shall  never  see  on  earth 
his  serious  animated  face — half  earnest  and  very  earnest, 
and  half  full  of  eager  fun  and  life — a  happy  mixture 
which  made  him  the  best  of  company." 

Ayril  29.  "  The  earth  seems  very  strange  to  me 
without  William ;  and  when  I  walk  and  rest  and  rise  in 
the  morning  and  go  to  bed,  I  recall  him.  There's  not  an 
hour  of  the  day  when  I  do  not  regret  his  absence.  But 
I  think  that  is  not  to  be  encouraged.  For  I  know  that 
he  is  happy.  The  serene  result  is  his.  Yet  I  can't  and 
won't  put  away  all  regret.  Let  what  is  natural  be.  'Tis 
a  mingled  strain  of  feeling.  But  then  what  is  not  mingled 
here?  All  the  logic  in  the  world  will  not  prevent  two 
contraries  existing  together  in  the  soul." 

Death  of  Edward  Brooke. 

Dec.  4,  1909.  "  Edward  very  ill.  ...  He  spoke  in 
tones  I  shall  never  forget  of  how  much  we  had  loved 
one  another.  But  he  could  not  say  much.  I  kissed 
him  and  I  fear  he  will  not  live." 

Dec.  5.    "  I  went,  and  found  Edward  in  great  trouble 


WlLLIiM    BrOOKK. 
Frmii  a  plidtoi/rajili  hi/  Chancellor  ifc  Smi,  Dtthlin. 


[To  face  iMge  488. 


STOPFORD  AND   EDWARD  489 

but  conscious,  though  I  heard  him  with  difficulty.  He 
spoke  lovingly  to  me,  and  stretched  out  his  hand  to  the 
picture  I  had  given  him  and  looked  at  me.  I  knelt  down 
and  said  the  Lord's  Prayer  for  him  and  he  repeated  it 
after  me,  and  pressed  my  hand  strongly  when  he  said 
'Deliver  us  from  evil.'  That  was  yesterday.  I  asked 
him  if  he  would  receive  the  Holy  Communion,  and  he 
said  Yes.     I  went  back  three  times  to  see  him." 

Dec.  6.  "I  gave  Edward  the  Holy  Communion  at 
12  in  the  morning.  ...  He  was  very  weak  but  quite 
conscious,  and  followed  word  for  word  the  service.  I 
held  his  hand.  Towards  the  end,  after  he  had  received, 
his  consciousness  seemed  to  waver,  and  I  shortened  the 
prayers.  When  it  was  over  he  was  pleased  and  smiled 
at  me,  and  I  kissed  him  and  left  him  to  sleep.  .  .  . 
There  was  no  sound  but  his  breathing.  It  grew  softer 
and  softer  and  finally  ceased.  That  was  a  strange  silence. 
It  might  be  felt.  Twice  afterwards,  in  the  space  of  a 
minute,  his  breast  heaved,  and  then  that  beautiful  and 
loving  life  was  over,  and  began  again  in  joy.  Dr  Davies 
drove  me  home,  and  as  I  lay  in  bed  late,  and  the  fire- 
light on  the  wall,  I  thought  he  would  appear  to  me,  but 
he  did  not." 

Dec.  9.  "  I  dropped  red  roses  and  lilies  into  the 
grave,  and  the  red  roses  were  symbolic  of  that  loving 
life  and  the  lilies  of  his  chivalric  courtesy,  and  both  of 
that  continuous  spring  and  summer  in  his  soul  which 
kept  his  character  always  young.  He  never  knew  save 
in  his  body,  alas !  what  winter  was.  I  do  not  love  the 
grave-making  business,  the  ugliness  of  the  planks  and 
tlie  ropes  and  the  slabs  of  clay  and  the  sodden  grass,  and 
these  are  worse  in  a  big  cemetery.  And  the  English 
Church  service  is  devoid  of  all  happiness  and  joy.  It  is 
not  only  steeped  in  sorrow ;  it  indulges  in  gloom.  And 
surely,  if  Christ  be  true,  there  ought  to  be  a  chastened 
rapture  in  the  words  with  which  one  gives  over  the 
soul  to  the  arms  of  Eternal  Love  who  ever  makes 
eternal  joy." 

Dec.  10.  "  Edward  has  given  me  the  serpent  ring 
he  has  worn  for  fifty  years.     It  is  a  dear  memorial  of 


490  A   RENEWAL   OF   YOUTH 

him.  Mighty  tired  to-day,  seemed  unable  even  to  think. 
Even  the  Ego  apparently  deserted  me.  *  I  think,  there- 
fore I  am,'  had  no  longer  any  weight;  and  for  half  the 
day  I  was  not.  Yet  I  knew  I  was.  How  was  I  ?  where 
was  I  ?  why  was  I  ?  who  was  I  ?  were  all  questions 
which  floated  in  and  out  of  my  intelligence  and  did  not 
wait  for  a  reply.  Illusions  they  were — why,  I  myself 
was  illusion.  Only  the  vivid  consciousness  that  Edward 
was  alive,  with  immortal  energy,  kept  me  in  any  sense 
of  reality." 

To  his  daughter  Honor. 

"  London.     Dec.  15,  1909. 

"...  It  is  a  sore  trouble  to  lose  Edward,  and  it 
leaves  the  vision  of  my  early  life  a  lonely  one.  No  one 
walks  in  that  country  now  along  with  me.  He  died 
very  peacefully.  His  breathing  grew  less  and  less  loud, 
and  then,  in  a  moment,  ceased,  and  the  silence  seemed 
the  silence  of  eternity.  His  brow  was  quite  clear  of 
pain,  and  he  looked  very  noble.  I  did  not  go  in  to  see 
him  again,  but  left  his  body,  where  he  was  not,  to  the 
silence.  The  idea  of  his  being  dead  never  for  a  moment 
occurred  to  me.  It  was  impossible  to  conceive  it.  But 
that  no  message  or  vision  from  the  dead  ever  comes  to 
us  at  all  is  one  of  the  strangest  things  in  the  world.  I 
have  called  on  the  dead  often,  but  there  is  no  vision. 
The  greatest  want  in  the  world  is  only  answered  by  a 
demand  to  believe.  I  think,  on  the  whole,  that  tliat  is 
right."  .  .  . 

Death  or  his  sister  Honor. 
To  Ids  sister  Honor  (shortly  before  her  death). 

"  The  Four  Winds.     Oct.  5,  1913. 

"  .  .  .1  have  often  longed  to  show  this  place  ^  to  you. 
I  have  however  a  good  photograph  of  you,  and  I  carry  it 
out  on  to  the  balcony,  and  you  are  quite  pleased  with  all 
you  see.     And  you  may  well  be  so,  for  the  roses,  though 

'  His  house  in  Surrey. 


WORDS   TO   A  DYING   SISTER  491 

it  is  only  their  second  blooming,  are  wonderfully  numerous 
and  noble  in  size,  and  are  the  wonder  and  envy  of  the 
neighbours,  who  have  only  a  few  left.  They  do  not  un- 
derstand how  at  the  top  of  this  sandstone  hill  we  can 
grow  them  at  all.  I  babble  on  in  this  way  because  there 
is  no  news  to  tell  you,  and  I  wish  I  had  some  with  which, 
dearest,  to  amuse  you.  You  are  so  good  and  patient  and 
bright  that  you  bring  your  own  quiet  joy  into  life  and 
ennoble  your  illness  into  something  beautiful,  and  will 
pardon  this  newsless  letter  which  is  only  just  written  to 
feel  I  am  talking  to  you  and  telling  you  that  I  love  you. 
"We  had  a  wild  sunset  to-night,  and  a  weird  uncanny  sky. 
Autumn  is  on  us ;  the  flowers  in  the  herbaceous  border 
are  fading,  the  trees  are  crimsoning,  the  bracken  is  brown, 
the  grass  is  grey.  I  try  to  see  its  beauty,  but  it  is  beauty 
passing  to  decay,  and  I  feel  it  in  myself.  I  say  to  myself, 
however,  when  I  am  sad :  '  If  Winter  comes  shall  Spring 
be  far  behind  ? ' — and  I  take  courage.  One  thing  I  have 
learnt  here,  the  unspeakable  dominance  and  intensity  of 
Life  in  the  Universe,  and  Life  means  Love.  My  dear 
love  to  your  dear  self.  Be  of  good  cheer  in  the  Lord. — 
Ever  your  loving 

"  Stopford." 

To  his  sister  Honor. 

"  The  Four  Winds. 

"Oct.  11,  1913. 

"...  The  last  news  I  had  of  you  were  that  you  were 
very  weak  and  that  your  night  had  been  troubled,  so 
perhaps  I  felt  more  eager  for  tidings  of  you  than  was 
just.  Dear  One,  I  am  so  sorry  for  this  great  weakness 
which  must  make  life  very  wearisome,  but  you  are  one 
of  those  people  who  preserve  even  in  trouble  an  equal 
mind,  quietly  resting  on  an  inward  strength,  which  He 
gives  to  those  who  love  Him.  There  is  no  greater  gift, 
for  it  means  an  interchanging  Love  which  is  always  a 
Conqueror  of  care  and  trouble,  of  sin  and  death.  May 
it  always  be  felt  by  you  in  the  heart's  deep  core,  and 
rejoiced  in.  I  think  in  great  weakness  the  world  beyond 
opens  to  us,  and  we  see  the  unimaginable  things  which 


492  A  EENEWAL   OF  YOUTH 

are  not  for  speech  but  are  for  joy.  You  will  remember 
them  when  you  get  strong  again  and  live  in  their  won- 
derful light.  To  day,  after  many  days  of  rain,  we  have 
a  noble  outburst  of  light  and  warmth,  and  life,  which  in 
all  the  flowers  was  beaten  down  into  silent  pain,  is  again 
beginning  to  move ;  and  the  roses  are  trying  to  recover, 
and  the  robin  begins  to  sing  again ;  and  the  owl,  even 
the  owl,  hoots  at  night — a  cheery  note.  The  trees  are 
beginning  to  change  into  gold  and  scarlet,  but  all  the 
common  flowers  are  dying,  having  done  their  duty  of 
beauty  to  the  very  last.  .  .  . 

"  I  wish  I  were  with  you  this  sunny  morning.  1 
would  sit  silent  and  talk  with  you  silently  as  I  do  now. 
Good-bye,  dearest,  and  take  my  love  to  your  heart. — 
Ever  your  loving  brother 

"  Stopfoed." 


CHAPTER   XXIV 
Brooke's  relations  with  the  unitarians 

"  I  induced   to  walk  back  with  me.     He  interested  me,  but  he 

is  another  instance  of  that  which  I  observe  in  so  manj'  of  the  Unitarian 
clergy — of  men  who  seem  as  if  they  were  cut  short — as  if  they  were 
made  to  go  further  and  do  more  than  they  have  done ;  as  if  a  turn  of 
destiny  fixed  them  in  a  state  of  life  beyond  which  they  could  not  move. 
They  are  then  sad  for  the  rest  of  their  lives.  Had  they  one  fibre  more 
in  their  will,  they  would  break  through  their  limits  and  move  on ;  but 
they  never  will." — (From  a  Diary.) 

"  Mr. met  mo  at  the  station,  and  came  in  to  sit  a  while  with 

me.  He  was  grave  and  sorrowful ;  looked  as  if  life  had  hit  him  too  hard. 
I  am  sorry  for  these  weary,  dismasted  ships  knocking  about,  unable  to 
sail,  in  the  stormy  seas  of  life.  And  yet,  how  much  better  they  are  in 
the  eyes  of  the  Highest  than  a  man  like  myself ;  and  how  much  higher 
will  be  their  place.  They  are  crucified  with  Christ — but  I  have  not 
been  crucified  at  all.  .  .  .  [This  minister]  is  lately  come  to  the  town, 
and  has  not  yet  got  into  it.  He  loves  metaphysics  and  is  a  good 
scholar.  But  what  good  are  these  things  in  dealing  with  the  out- 
wearied  existence  of  men  and  women  in  a  manufacturing  town — about 
as  much  good  as  nUringues  a  la  crime  would  be  to  a  starving  man." — 
(Prom  a  Diary.) 

For  several  years  after  his  retireraent  Brooke  continued 
to  reoeive  many  proposals  in  which  opportunities  were 
placed  before  him  for  resuming  his  preaching  work. 
Most  of  these  came  from  Unitarian  bodies  or  Unitarian 
Churches,  that  being,  as  we  have  seen,  the  only 
religious  communion  where  he  could  find  the  freedom 
for  the  sake  of  which  he  had  left  the  Church  of 
England.  This,  it  must  be  repeated,  was  the  real 
bond  of  union  between  him  and  the  Unitarian   body  ; 


494    BROOKE'S  RELATIONS  WITH  UNITARIANS 

and  was  recognized  as  such  not  by  him  alone  but 
by  those  who  approached  him  with  offers  of  work.  On 
his  side  he  had  sternly  refused  to  enrol  ihimself  in  any 
sect,  Unitarian  or  other ;  he  had  turned  his  back  for  ever 
on  doctrinal  standards,  and  it  was  because  he  knew  well 
that  the  Unitarians  had  no  such  standards,  and  did  not 
approve  of  them,  that  he  was  able  to  feel  himself  at  home 
in  their  communion,  and  that  they,  on  their  side,  were 
able  to  welcome  him  as  essentially  one  of  themselves. 
He  knew  their  worth,  honoured  their  leaders  and  their 
record,  but  he  was  aware  of  their  limitations.  "  The 
Unitarians,"  he  once  said  to  me,  "  love  the  Good.  But 
are  they  not  a  little  afraid  of  the  Very  Good  ?  " 

The  letters  and  diaries  of  the  later  period  contain 
many  comments  on  Unitarianism,  its  ethos,  its  preaching, 
its  ministers.  Some  of  these  are  full  of  sympathy  and 
admiration ;  others  are  critical.  It  is  clear  that  he 
regarded  this  body  as  having  some  of  the  essentials,  but 
not  all.  The  following  is  from  a  letter  of  1884  to  his 
son  Stopford,  who  was  then  about  to  become  a  Unitarian 
minister. 

To  his  S071  Stopford. 

"  Interlaken.    October  19,  '84. 

**  Dearest  Boy, — That  was  a  sad  account  you  gave 
me  of  the  meeting.  It  struck  me,  as  all  these  Unitarian 
assemblies  do,  with  melancholy  which  had  but  little  hope 
in  it.  They  have  set  themselves  up  as  a  specially 
thinking  body,  and  there  is  precious  little  original 
thought  in  them.  Only  a  few  feel  that  all  the  thinking 
in  the  world  on  religious  matters  is  worth  not  more  than 
a  set  of  leading  articles,  unless  it  is  fitted  into  the 
spiritual  needs  of  daily  life,  and  the  everyday  questions  of 
the  soul.  Men  and  women  want  to  know  what  to  do  with 
their  lives,  with  their  passions,  with  their  temptations 
and  with  those  desires  which  end  in  faith ;  and  they  are 


HIS   LINK  WITH   THE   UNITARIANS      495 

given  nothing  but  theology  and  philosophy  at  second 
hand.  They  want  something  positive,  were  it  only  state- 
ments like  those  in  John's  Epistles  :  This  is  darkness, 
that  light ;  this  truth,  that  a  lie ;  want  it  even  without 
proof,  and  they  are  given  negations  ;  it  is  miserable.  It 
is  the  curse  and  disease  of  an  antagonistic  position,  and 
if  they  really  believed  in  anything,  they  would  not  bother 
so  much  to  prove  it  and  to  disprove  the  opposite.  Faith 
is  fire  in  the  heart,  and  when  a  man  believes  in  God 
and  all  that  flows  from  His  union  with  man,  it  is 
so  wonderful  and  glorious  a  thing  that  he  cannot 
speak  of  its  opposites.  He  proclaims  the  light  he  loves, 
and  in  the  light  he  knows  that  falsehood  will  finally  die. 
If  the  light  doesn't  kill  it,  his  argument  will  not.  So 
passing  on,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  Sun,  he  does  not 
see  the  dark  things  at  his  feet,  nor  speak  of  them  at  all. 
Even  on  sins  he  does  not  much  dwell,  but  says  to  poor 
folk  who  are  in  gloom,  *  Come  with  me  and  see  righteous- 
ness.' I  wish  a  new  spirit  would  come  into  Uni- 
tarianism." 

Neither  by  temperament,  training,  nor  heredity  was 
Brooke  a  "  Nonconformist "  in  the  narrow  sense  of  the 
term,  though  in  the  broader  sense  he  had  never  been 
anything  else.  This  Nonconformity  in  the  broad  sense, 
equally  shared  on  both  sides,  is  the  essential  explanation 
of  Brooke's  association  with  Unitarians  during  the  latter 
years  of  his  life.  The  doctrine  he  preached  in  their 
pulpits  was  certainly  not  Trinitarian,  and  to  that  extent 
it  may  be  called  Unitarian ;  but  the  truth  is  that  Brooke 
attached  no  importance  to  this  terminology,  which  he 
never  mentioned  in  public,  but  simply  stood  forth,  as  he 
had  done  all  along,  to  preach  the  Gospel  that  had  been 
revealed  to  him,  leaving  the  world  to  label  it  as  they 
would.  That  is  precisely  what  his  Unitarian  friends 
wished  him  to  do. 

The  following  letter,  written  to  a  friend  in  the  year 


496     BROOKE'S  RELATIONS  WITH  UNITARIANS 

after  his  secession  from  the  Church  of  England,  puts  his 
own  position  quite  clearly. 

"  [London]  March,  '81. 

"  .  .  .  I  do  not  use  the  term  '  Unitarian,'  though  I 
have  no  objection  to  be  called  so.  I  don't  use  it  because 
it  implies  a  sect  and  the  teaching  of  a  sect.  But  I  do 
assert  doctrines  which  are  called  Unitarian.  But  then 
Unitarian  as  a  term  now  covers  a  great  many  persons 
who  are  Theists  only  and  who  either  neglect  or  deny 
Christ.  And  I  prefer  to  be  free  from  any  term  which 
mixes  me  up  with  an  indiscriminate  set  of  theologians,  or 
which  fixes  me  down  to  a  creed.  And  the  term  Unitarian 
does  both  these  things.  Yes,  the  denial  of  Christ's  God- 
head does  fix  a  gulf  between  me  and  orthodox  Christians 
from  their  point  of  view,  and  I  think  they  have  more 
horror  of  us  than  they  have  of  Atheists.  I  don't  know 
why,  and  I  don't  care. 

"  Are  you  called  upon  to  openly  take  that  side?  If  so, 
do  so.  But  if  no  duty  calls  you,  and  you  will  feel  it  when 
it  does,  I  see  no  reason  why  you  should  injure  others. 
At  the  same  time  I  fancy  that  if  you  go  on  feeling  more 
secure  that  your  faith  is  faith  in  the  perfect  Man,  and 
that  for  you  all  that  is  perfect  in  His  Humanity  becomes 
like  a  fiction  when  you  make  Him  God,  you  will  ere  long 
feel  called  upon  to  say  so  in  some  way  or  another.  But 
let  things  come.  Don't  hurry  them.  They  will  grow  by 
their  own  force." 

In  January,  1897,  he  entered  into  an  engagement 
with  the  British  and  Foreign  Unitarian  Association  to 
preach  a  series  of  sermons  in  the  principal  towns  of  the 
United  Kingdom.  The  programme  was  a  long  one,  and 
occupied  him,  with  intervals  caused  by  illness,  for  nearly 
five  years.  His  letters  and  entries  in  his  diary  show  how 
greatly  he  enjoyed  the  work.  It  took  him  into  new 
surroundings,  gave  him  contact  with  a  class  of  men  in 
the  provinces  which  till  then  was  little  known  to  him,  and 
revealed,  by  the    immense   crowds   which    everywhere 


PREACHES  L\    THE   PROVINCES         497 

gathered  to  hear  him,  that  his  reputation  was  not 
confined  to  London— a  discovery  which  gave  him  no 
little  pleasure.  The  following  account  of  the  undertaking 
has  been  obtained  from  the  official  records  of  the 
Association. 

"From  October,  1897,  to  May,  1898,  Mr.  Stopford 
Brooke  preached  at  the  following  places  : — 

"  Bath,  Belfast  (All  Souls),  Belfast  (1st  Presbyterian), 
Bolton,  Bridport,  Brighton,  Bristol,  Bury,  Chowbent, 
Dublin,  Edinburgh,  Exeter,  Gee  Cross,  Glasgow,  Hack- 
ney, Hampstead,  Ipswich,  Kensington,  Leeds,  Leicester, 
Liverpool  (Hope  Street),  Liverpool  (Renshaw  Street), 
London,  Manchester  (Cross  Street),  Monton,  Newcastle- 
on-Tyne,  Norwich,  Nottingham,  Richmond,  Sale,  Shef- 
field, Southport,  Stockport,  Taunton. 

"From  October,  1898,  to  April,  1899,  Mr  Stopford 
Brooke  preached  at  the  following  places  : — 

"  Bermondsey,  Birkenhead,  Birmingham  (Church  of 
the  Messiah  and  Newhall  Hill),  Bournemouth,  Bristol, 
Brixton,  Cardiff,  Coventry,  Croydon,  Dukinfield,  Gorton, 
Hampstead,  Huddersfield,  Kidderminster,  Middlesbrough, 
Northampton,  Plymouth,  Pontypridd,  Portsmouth,  Pres- 
ton, Scarborough,  Sheffield,  Stalybridge,  Stourbridge, 
Todmorden,  and  Torquay. 

"From  October  8th  to  November  12th,  1899,  Mr 
Brooke  preached  on  Sunday  mornings  at  Little  Portland 
Street  (jhapel,  London.  The  chapel  was  crowded  on 
each  occasion.  He  also  preached  one  Sunday  evening  at 
Mansford  Street,  Bethnal  Green. 

"  Later  in  November,  he  lectured  on  '  Religion  in 
Life  and  Literature '  at  Aberdeen,  Edinburgh,  and 
Glasgow,  on  week  evAiings,  and  preached  at  each  place 
on  the  Sunday.  In  December,  1899,  after  preaching  at 
Warrington  and  Swansea,  an  attack  of  influenza  pros- 
trated Mr  Brooke,  and  he  was  unable  to  fulfil  engage- 
ments at  Burnley,  Chester,  Hull,  Oldham,  Padiham, 
Piatt,  and  Rochdale,  in  the  opening  of  1900.  He  re- 
covered sufficiently  to  preach  at  Kensington  from  the 
end  of  May  until  the  beginning  of  July. 


498    BEOOKE'S  RELATIONS  WITH  UNITARIANS 

"  In  the  late  autumn  of  1900  he  preached  at  Roch- 
dale, Oldham,  Southampton,  and  Oxford.  His  health 
agam  gave  way,  and  he  was  unable  to  fulfil  a  number  of 
engagements  made  for  him  in  the  north  of  England  and 
elsewhere. 

"  On  his  recovery,  in  the  early  part  of  1901,  he 
preached  at  Hampstead,  and  for  six  successive  Sundays 
occupied  the  pulpit  at  Little  Portland  Street  Chapel. 

"In  the  following  year  (1902),  the  uncertain  state  of 
Mr  Brooke's  health  made  it  practically  impossible  to 
arrange  for  engagements  at  distant  dates  and  places. 
Private  arrangements  were,  however,  made  by  the  con- 
gregation at  Hampstead,  and  later  by  that  of  Little 
Portland  Street." 

One  who  had  been  present  at  many  of  these  services 
thus  describes  them  : — 

"  I  have  been  fortunate  enough  to  be  present  at  nine 
of  Mr  Stopford  Brooke's  services,  and  in  every  case  the 
churches  have  been  full  to  the  doors,  not  unfrequently 
overflowing.  *  Can't  you  find  me  a  seat  ?  '  I  heard  one 
despairing  person  say  who  had  come  from  a  neighbouring 
town  fully  twenty  minutes  before  the  time  of  service. 
'  There  is  not  even  half  a  one,  sir,'  was  the  reply.  And 
it  was  the  same  tale  elsewhere ;  occasionally  the  doors 
had  to  be  closed  some  time  before  the  service  began,  to 
prevent  excessive  over-crowding.  Much  larger  churches 
could  have  been  filled.  .  .  . 

"  The  congregations  at  these  services  were  a  ming- 
ling of  many  elements.  There  were  the  regular  atten- 
dants of  the  church,  coming  early,  with  a  pleasant  air 
of  excitement  about  them  which  implied  that  this 
Sunday  was  a  festival.  In  addition  to  these,  members  of 
neighbouring  churches  would  come.  Then,  from  the 
outside,  came  a  large  number  who  perhaps  had  never 
before  entered  a  Unitarian  or  Free  Christian  Church, 
some  a  little  timid  at  finding  themselves  within  such  a 
place  of  heresy,  but  the  name  of  the  preacher  had  lured 
them  to  brave  the  danger.  They  were  of  many  con- 
ditions and  many  sects;  the  fine  lady  and  gentleman 


AN   IMPRESSION   OF   THIS   PREACHING    499 

from  the  fashionable  church,  quieter  folk  from  dissenting 
chapels,  the  hard  intellectual  worker  and  the  artist,  who, 
perhaps,  in  the  smaller  town,  can  find  no  church  to  go 
to.  Here,  there  was  a  clergyman  of  the  Established 
Church  ;  there,  a  Salvation  bonnet ;  up  in  the  gallery 
a  band  of  school-children.  Now  and  then  faces  familiar 
of  old  in  Bedford  Chapel  might  be  seen,  people  who 
had  travelled  a  greater  or  less  distance  from  neighbour- 
ing towns,  only  too  thankful  for  the  chance  of  hearing 
again  the  voice  which  had  been  so  often  their  inspi- 
ration. 

"  The  services  on  these  occasions  have  struck  me  as 
especially  '  congregational.'  In  some  of  the  churches, 
too,  it  was  arranged  that  the  whole  service  should  be 
quite  brief  in  order  that  full  and  fresh  attention 
should  be  concentrated  on  the  sermon.  An  almost  un- 
broken silence  settles  over  the  church  for  the  fifty 
minutes  or  so  of  preaching,  for  we  are  listening  to  no 
modern  sermonette,  but  are  reminded  of  the  great 
preachers  of  a  past  generation  who  held  their  hearers 
attentive  for  an  hour  or  more.  Those  who  came  from 
curiosity  are  caught  up  into  an  absorbing  interest, 
startled  and  enlightened  by  the  new  meanings  drawn 
out  of  the  well-worn  text  meanings  which  bring  Chris- 
tianity into  the  heart  of  everyday  life,  free  from  the 
mists  of  human  dogma,  and  make  one  see  it  as  Christ 
meant  it  to  be  seen.  And  those  among  the  listeners 
to  whom  these  things  are  not  quite  new,  listening  once 
again  to  them,  are  confirmed  in  the  faith,  strength- 
ened, gladdened,  refreshed  by  the  strong,  true  words 
and  the  inspiring  presence  of  the  great  preacher. 
Beneath  the  influence  of  the  sermon  all  differences  of 
class  and  creed  seem,  for  the  time  at  least,  to  be  for- 
gotten in  the  gracious  atmosphere  of  common  human 
feeling  that  spreads  through  the  listening  congregation. 
As  every  one  knows,  Mr  Brooke's  sermons  are  seldom 
directly  doctrinal,  but  no  '  Liberal  Christian  '  can  hear 
them  without  becoming  more  'liberal'  still,  nor  is  it 
surely  possible  for  any  '  Orthodox  Christian  '  to  leave 
the  church  without   having  received   into  himself,  the 


500     BROOKE'S  RELATIONS  WITH  UNITARIANS 

beginnings,  at  least,  of  that  which  will  draw  him  closer 
in  heart  and  mind  to  his  '  liberal '  brother.  And  each 
of  them  cannot  help  but  feel  more  keenly  that  common 
kinship  with  all  human  beings  which  is  the  very  essence 
of  the  spirit  of  Christianity.  The  comforting,  protect- 
ing, educating  Fatherhood  of  God ;  the  need  of  fortitude 
and  love  in  the  battle  of  life,  and  how  to  win  these 
things ;  the  real  meaning  of  Prayer  and  its  use ;  the 
crying  need  of  Man  for  his  God  ;  the  spirit  of  eagerness, 
hope,  and  faith,  with  which  we  should  meet  the  New 
Year ;  the  true  meaning  of  '  Christ  is  risen ' ;  the  evo- 
lution of  a  nobler  theology ;  the  part  that  we,  as  Free 
Christians,  ought  to  take  in  it, — these  are  some  of  the 
subjects  I  have  been  privileged  to  hear  of  m  the  sermons 
of  the  past  year.  But  to  name  the  subject  of  the  sermon 
can  give  no  idea  of  the  treatment  of  it — of  the  wonderful 
insight  into  the  heart  and  mind  of  men  and  women  as 
truth  after  truth  is  driven  home;  of  the  flashes  of 
genius,  the  intellectual  grasp,  the  poetic  power,  the 
literary  charm,  the  benignant  persuasiveness  of  the 
whole.  'Well,'  I  overheard  an  old  hard-headed  North 
countryman  say  to  his  neighbour,  as  they  came  to- 
gether out  of  the  church,  *  Well,  he  is  urnih  going  to 
hear  ! '  .  .  ." 


CHAPTER  XXV 

EXTRACTS    FROM    THE    DIARY    OF    1899 

I  DO  not  know  for  what  purpose  Brooke  kept  his  diaries, 
nor,  indeed,  whether  he  had  any  definite  purpose  at  all 
beyond  the  desire  to  express  himself  in  this  manner. 
Some  passages  are  so  carefully  thought  out  and  written  as 
to  suggest  that  they  were  intended  for  publication.  But 
this  is  not  borne  out  by  the  entries  as  a  whole.  Some 
are  concerned  with  matters  which  are  of  no  interest  to 
the  world  at  large,  or  only  to  that  portion  of  the  world 
which  has  an  appetite  for  knowledge  of  other  people's 
business.  By  far  the  largest  portion  is  occupied  with 
the  description  of  natural  scenery,  with  the  impressions 
of  Nature,  as  they  came  to  Brooke  in  his  constant 
travels.  These  are  of  great  value,  and  reveal  an 
astonishing  versatility  of  descriptive  power,  always 
fresh,  individual  and  distinct.  There  are  comments  on 
the  books  he  was  reading,  and  on  the  passing  events  of 
public  life ;  criticisms  of  pictures  and  plays  ;  estimates 
of  prominent  politicians,  and  many  poignant  character- 
izations of  the  men  and  women  he  met  in  daily  life, 
evidently  not  intended  for  the  public.  Trivial  matters  of 
personal  or  domestic  interest  are  freely  recorded,  though 
never  in  a  manner  that  is  commonplace. 

At  the  same  time,  it  must  be  said  that  there  is 
nothing  either  in  the  diaries  as  a  whole,  or  in  any  of 
the  recorded  details,  which  bears  the  mark  of  a  guarded 


502     EXTRACTS   FROM   THE   DIARY   OF   1899 

privacy.  In  this,  as  in  everything  else,  Brooke  was  the 
least  secretive  of  men ;  he  did  not  even  take  the  pains  to 
keep  these  diaries  under  lock  and  key,  and  would  some- 
times read  them  aloud  for  the  amusement  of  his  children, 
who  indeed  might  read  them  for  themselves  whenever 
they  were  so  disposed.  The  simplest  supposition  is  that 
he  wrote  these  records  because  he  enjoyed  writing  them 
— the  motive  of  the  artist.  Their  discontinuous  cha- 
racter is  in  keeping  with  this  supposition.  They  begin 
and  break  off  without  apparent  reason,  and,  when  the 
gaps  are  subsequently  explained  by  the  writer,  the  expla- 
nation seldom  goes  beyond  the  statement  that  he  has 
not  been  in  the  mood  to  write.  Illness  sometimes 
accounts  for  the  gaps  :  on  the  other  hand,  there  are  long 
portions  which  were  written  during  illness,  and  owe  no 
little  of  their  interest  to  that  very  fact. 

London.  January  3.  ''  Venice  is  always  sensationally 
beautiful.  There  is  more  charm,  more  of  Nature's 
adventurousness,  in  a  day  of  that  city  than  there  is  in 
a  week  of  any  other  place  in  Italy.  And  all  her  sen- 
sation is  pure  art.  I  wish  I  were  there,  not  rotting  on 
this  obscure  and  gloomy  wharf  by  Styx,  which  folk  call 
London,  and  think  the  navel  of  creation.  There's 
nothing  pleasant  in  it  but  the  shops,  and  they  would 
not  be  pleasant  if  I  had  money  enough  to  buy  every- 
thing in  them  I  desire.  It  is  that  I  cannot  buy  which 
makes  their  charm." 

Portsmouth.  January  16.  "  John  Pounds  was  an 
interesting  creature — a  man  who,  lamed  for  life,  took 
up  shoe-mending  in  a  little  shop,  open  to  the  air  in  a 
bye- street  of  Portsmouth.  He  made  a  shoe  for  his  lame 
foot,  and  then  he  thought  he  would  make  his  living  by 
mending  for  the  poor.  And  then,  being  full  of  affection 
for  children,  he  took  a  wild  little  boy,  and  while  he 
cooked  taught  him  to  read  and  spell.  He  soon  had  a 
class   of  20  or   30  in   his    shop,   and    fed    them   with 


THE   GRAMOPHONE  503 

potatoes  cooked  in  his  little  stove,  and  in  this  way, 
during  his  life,  he  taught  hundreds  for  love.  He  was 
the  real  founder  of  the  Ragged  School  movement. 
Blessley  bought  the  shop,  and  kept  it  as  it  was.  I 
visited  it  with  great  interest  and  i^leasure.  The  Uni- 
tarians are  very  proud  of  him.  His  tomb  is  in  the 
Churchyard  of  their  Chapel.  '  May  I  die,'  he  said,  '  as 
a  bird  dies  '  (he  kept  a  number  of  them  and  a  cat  and 
rabbits)  '  when  he  drops  off  his  perch.'  And  so  he  did. 
He  fainted  one  day  in  the  Town  Hall,  and  died  on  the 
spot.  He  never  took  money.  All  he  did  was  for  Love's 
sake ;  and  he  always  worked  while  he  taught.  He 
seems  to  me  the  nearest  of  all  I  have  known  to  the  heart 
of  the  Imigdom  of  God." 

London.  January  18.  "  Called  in  at  Pillischer's, 
and  heard  the  gramophone — a  vile  concoction  of  the 
scientific  people.  Cannot  they  let  us  alone  ?  Why  will 
they  reproduce  the  human  voice,  and  if  they  do  it,  why 
should  they  choose  music  hall  songs  for  reproduction  ? 
It  is  a  revolting  thing  to  listen  to.  I  had  far  sooner 
hear  a  Papuan  sing  his  battle  song  to  the  accompani- 
ment of  a  cannibal  feast  than  listen  to  this  instrument ; 
but  Pillischer's  son  or  nephew  treated  it  as  if  it  were  a 
baby  of  his  own,  handled  it  with  fascinated  love,  devoted 
himself  to  it,  and  longed  for  me  to  admire  it.  It  is  an 
ingenious  piece  of  work,  but  the  voice  that  came  out  of  it 
was  like  the  voice  of  a  skeleton — a  weird,  vile,  uncanny, 
monstrous  thing !  I  hate  it  even  more  than  I  hate  the 
telephone,  and  all  its  ramified  iniquities.  To  put  by 
and  reproduce  the  voice  of  the  dead,  can  the  meanest 
imagination  conceive  anything  more  insolent,  more 
insulting  to  the  dead  than  that  ?  The  folk  that  are 
beyond  are  silent,  let  them  keep  silence.  It  is  not  their 
living  voice  we  hear ;  it  is  the  voice  of  a  thin  ghost, 
squeaking  like  a  rat  behind  the  arras.  To  hear  it  is 
to  violate  the  sacred  silence  of  the  dead." 

January  29.  "  Constance  Fletcher  came  to  supper 
and  Mr  Potts.  The  account  Potts  gave  of  his  war  with 
the  cats  who  used  to  haunt  the  leads  and  ledges  of 
S.  Audley  Street  was  most  amusing.      He  used,  when 

VOL.  II.  L 


504    EXTRACTS  FROM  THE  DIARY  OF   1899 

much  disturbed,  to  rise  at  night,  with  a  small  syringe 
filled  with  prussic  acid,  and  to  go  down  to  the  window 
opening  on  the  roof  and  wait  till  one  of  the  screaming 
cats  drew  near.  Puss — puss — he  called,  and  the  inno- 
cent approached.  Then  he  discharged  the  acid  into  the 
eye  of  the  beast,  and  with  a  loud  shriek  the  unfortunate 
crossed  the  Styx." 

Fehruary  16.  "Germany  has  produced  no  supreme 
dramatist.  Goethe  had  no  dramatic  faculty.  As  to 
Schiller,  it  is  Dissertation,  not  Drama.  I  should  like  to 
have  seen  Shakespeare  set  down  to  lick  Wilhelm  Tell  into 
fitness  for  stage  representation.  What  a  passion  Will 
would  have  been  in  !  " 

February  21.  "  Came  home  to-day.  London  nearly 
as  bad  as  usual.  Even  to  hate  a  town  is  bad.  The  same 
results — but  diminished  in  virulence — follow  as  follow 
on  hating  a  human  being — morbid  exaggeration  of  its 
desagrements,  denigration  of  its  good  things — inward 
restlessness — nursing  of  malice  and  uncharitableness  till 
they  are  cossetted  into  virtues — a  miserable  tossing  to 
and  fro  between  desire  to  do  harm  and  inability  to  do 
it,  and  many  other  vicious  things  and  tempers.  Never- 
theless I  hate  the  place." 

Fehruary  22.  "  1  don't  believe  I  shall  ever  be  able 
to  read  his  and  Mrs  Browning's  Letters.  First,  I  don't 
think  they  ought  to  have  been  published  at  all.  Secondly, 
they  will  pretend  to  be  very  full  of  thought  and  subtlety, 
and  will  not  be.  Thirdly,  I  shall  find  the  style  detest- 
able. There  is  a  morbid  squeak  about  Mrs  Browning's 
poetry  which  I  positively  abhor.  Now  and  then,  it  is 
true,  she  is  almost  great." 

Fehruary  24.  "  She  [a  lady  he  met  at  dinner]  re- 
membered our  last  conversation  and  I  gave  her  some- 
thing more  to  think  of.  I  sometimes  wonder  what 
women  are  made  of.  At  any  rate,  the  clay  is  very,  very 
rarely  uniform.  But  again  I  say  we  know  nothing  about 
them  and  they  know  nothing  about  us,  which  is  one  of 
the  funniest  things  in  this  funny  universe.  Moralists 
may  make  life  as  serious  as  they  like — I've  no  objection 
— on  the  contrary — but  the  one  remarkable  thing  in  life 


VISIT   TO   LADY   SHELLEY  505 

is  the  humour  of  the  general  situation,  and  till  that  is 
more  universally  recognized,  we  shall  not  find  the  secret 
of  life." 

February  27.  "  I  sometimes  like  a  dinner  party,  but 
it  is  generally  a  trial.  I  should  like  it  well  if  any  of  the 
folk  I  meet  were  vitally  interested  about  anything.  But 
they  only  skim  over  the  surface  of  things,  and  if  I  say 
something  which  goes  down  to  the  central  matters,  as 
an  experiment,  they  meet  me  with  a  stare  and  a  start 
which,  if  it  did  not  amuse  me  a  little,  would  fill  me  with 
pity.  Half  London  conversation  is  the  telling  of  anecdotes 
most  of  which  are  old.  And  the  other  half  is  tentative : 
most  stupid  !  Sometimes  I  break  through  all  the  defences 
and  go  right  home  to  what  I  feel  the  woman  or  the  man 
to  be.  And  then  if  they  do  not  get  angry  or  sulky  the 
talk  is  interesting.  But  really,  when  one  has  lived  to 
near  seventy,  one  begins  to  want  change  of  air — change 
into  another  world.  The  realities  count  for  little  in 
London.     I  want  a  world  where  they  are  everything." 

February  28.  "  I  stayed  to  talk  to  Bryce  ^  and  Mrs 
Bryce  till  near  midnight.  Bryce  and  I  ought  to  have 
been  first  cousins.  *  Tell  me,'  I  said,  when  I  was  alone 
with  him,  *  tell  me  about  the  house  and  the  country.' 
*  0  do  not  ask  me  about  politics,  leave  alone  the  house 
and  the  country  now.'  *  Bless  me,'  said  I,  '  what  I  am 
asking  about  is  your  new  house  in  the  Forest  and  the 
natural  scenery.  I  don't  care  about  Parliament  and  the 
Elections.' " 

Bournemouth.  March  25.  "Found  Lady  Shelley'^ 
strangely  well.  She  had  been  ill  for  nearly  three 
months.  But  yesterday  she  woke  up  as  fresh  as  a  daisy  on 
a  summer  morning ;  all  pain  gone.  She  declared  it  was 
my  coming  which  made  her  well — a  pretty  compliment 
to  me,  but  an  impossible  reality.  I  got  her  to  play  whist 
in  the  evening  with  Ruth  Scarlett  and  Verona  and  me  ; 
and  the  games  were  good.    But  my  whist  is  as  blunt  as 

*  The  present  Viscount  Bryce. 

2  Lady  Shelley  was  the  daughter-in-law  of  the  poet.  Her  husband 
was  Sir  Percy  Shelley,  the  poet's  son  by  Mary  Godwin.  She  lived  at 
Bournemouth, 


506    EXTRACTS   FROM   THE  DIARY  OF   1899 

ray  razor  this  morning.  I  had  my  old  room  with  that 
Cameron  photograph  of  Jowett  staring  at  me  as  I  lay  on 
my  sofa  and  smoked  and  read  my  sermon.  There  he 
was,  as  innocent  and  as  dangerous  as  ever.  I  don't  like 
Disintegrators.  .  .  .  And  when  he  had  disintegrated  he 
never  could  build  again.  .  .  .  The  blamelessness  of  his 
personal  life  kept  him  wholly  ignorant  of  the  desperate- 
ness  of  the  temptations  and  trials  of  men,  and  he 
floundered  when  he  got  among  them.  His  worst  folly 
was  flirting  with  Agnosticism  in  its  positive  form  of 
denial.  He  had  a  perfect  hatred  of  recklessness,  and 
especially  of  the  recklessness  that  attains  its  end.  .  .  ." 

March  26.  "  I  talked  long  with  Lady  Shelley,  who 
described  Wordsworth  and  Southey  to  me,  both  of  whom 
she  had  known  as  a  girl  She  liked  Southey,  who  had  a 
face  like  a  hawk.  Wordsworth,  she  declared,  was  hideous 
— a  face  scarred  with  smallpox,  a  rugged,  pleasant  face, 
broad  lips  and  small  eyes,  fireless,  and  closed  with  heavy 
eyehds.  His  dress  was  dreadful,  offensively  rude,  imita- 
ting, obtrusively  imitating,  a  farmer's :  a  threadbare 
rough  coat,  and  shoes  ornamented  with  huge  nails.  *  I 
suppose,'  I  said,  '  you  would  not  read  his  poetry  because 
he  was  ugly  ? '  '  That's  it,'  said  she.  It  must  be  remem- 
bered she  saw  him  when  he  was  old.  Then  she  was  a 
young  girl,  and  a  young  girl  is  not  kind ;  and  I  dare  say 
he  paid  her  no  attention.  She  has  many  of  his  letters — 
to  Godwin  and  others.  I  told  her  what  De  Quincey  says 
of  his  eyes.  'Well,'  she  said,  *it  may  be  so,  but  he 
always  kept  them  closed.'  I  walked  in  the  pine  wood 
near  the  sea.  The  murmur  of  the  waves  fled  through 
the  wood  like  a  spirit :  and  the  starlings  and  thrushes 
sang  in  harmony  with  it.  I  opened  my  window  at  night. 
The  moon  was  high  and  one  planet  near  it ;  and  the  air 
was  sweet  and  pure.  How  good,  how  gracious  is  the 
world!" 

March  27.  "  Heard  a  characteristic  story  of  Shelley. 
Harriet  was  far  too  foolish  and  thought  herself  too  fine 
to  nurse  her  child.  This  horrified  S.  who  thought  that 
nature  was  violated  by  her  refusal  and  abhorred  a  hired 
nurse.     The  nurse's  soul  would  enter  the  child.    All  day 


"  THE   OXFORD   NOTE  "  507 

he  tried  to  persuacie  Harriet  to  do  her  dut}-,  walking  up 
and  down  the  room,  crooning  old  songs  to  the  child  in 
his  arms.  At  last,  in  his  despair,  and  thinking  that  the 
passion  in  him  would  make  a  miracle,  he  pulled  his  shirt 
away  and  tried  himself  to  suckle  the  child.  This  is 
Peacock's  tale,  and  it  is  Shelley  all  over.  I  believe  it.  It 
stamps  the  man." 

March  28.  "  Better ;  and  I  sat  with  my  dear  old  Lady 
[Shelley]  in  her  room,  among  all  the  relics  of  the  dead, 
while  she  talked  of  the  past.  Her  memory  is  very  good, 
and  her  sketches  of  folk  admirable.  Hogg,  Peacock, 
Hunt,  Trelawny,  passed  in  review  and  many  others. 
Hogg  was  so  huge,  that  he  could  not  join  the  tips  of  his 
fingers  in  front  of  his  vast  stomach." 

London.  March  29.  "  S.  and  L.  have  resolved  on 
leaving  London.  I  cannot  urge  them  against  it,  for 
they  are  doing  the  right  thing;  but  I'm  consumedly 
sorry.  However,  I  dare  say  I  shall  see  a  good  deal  of 
them,  and  they  are  not  far  from  Oxford,  so  that  I  shall 
know  a  little  more  of  a  town  of  which  I  am  absurdly 
ignorant.  It  is  true  I  don't  care  for  the  Oxford  note — 
pretentious  provinciality.  But  in  the  best  men  it  is 
toned  down,  only  emerging  now  and  then,  as  if  they 
could  not  help  it.  The  worst  of  it  is  that  it  lasts  in 
so  many  when  they  leave  Oxford  and  move  in  a  wider 
world.  They  carry  it  with  them  like  an  '  aura,'  and  in 
its  vapour  everything  is  Oxfordially  refracted,  so  that 
they  never  see  things  as  they  really  are.  Their  un- 
conscious conceit  amazes  mankind." 

Good  Friday/,  March  31.  "I  ought  to  have  gone 
to  Church,  but  I  did  not.  I  can't  stand  the  elaborate 
mourning  which  is  practised  now  in  all  the  Churches 
for  the  most  triumphant  act  of  pure  love  which  ever  was 
done  in  all  the  history  of  the  world." 

April  1.  '•  Wrote  all  day  at  my  sermon  till  my  head 
was  in  a  blaze.  At  five  I  walked  with  Evelyn  in  the 
Park.  The  air  was  cool,  and  the  grey  sky  opened  its 
doors  to  show  the  parting  sun.  A  yellow  gleam  shot 
across  the  Park  and  lit  a  bed  of  crocus  near  the  Ser- 
pentine, where  for  a  time  we  sat  opposite  the  island  of 


508    EXTRACTS   FROM   THE   DIARY  OF   1899 

the  swans.  There  I  have  often  sat.  'Twas  a  favourite 
place  of  mine  once  on  a  time  and  has  a  crowd  of  associa- 
tions. The  air  was  full  of  ghosts  tumbling  in  haste  to 
be  recognized  over  one  another.  I  missed  the  wild 
crying  of  the  birds.  I  do  not  know  why  they  were 
silent  to-night." 

Ajjril  3.  ''Alice,  our  old  housemaid,  looking  very 
well,  has  just  been  in  to  see  me.  Our  servants  are  good 
friends  to  us,  and  she  was  a  very  true  friend  in  many 
ways." 

April  4.  "  I  had  heard  much  of  the  play  [*  Lady 
Ursula's  Adventures ']  and  I  was  disappointed.  It  con- 
soled me  to  get  into  the  fresh,  curiously  fresh,  night  air, 
and  to  see  the  stars  above.  How  much  we  have  lost 
by  knowing  so  much  about  them !  We  have  gained 
much  too,  but  I'd  give  up  all  I  know  about  them  to  have 
one  whiff  of  the  early  feeling  for  them  which  Science  has 
taken  away." 

April  6.  "  I  went  this  morning  to  see  Mrs  Stanley 
and  walked  with  her  to  the  Burne  Jones'  exhibition.  I 
was  glad  to  see  it  again.  I  wondered,  when  I  saw  that 
long  activity  of  imagination,  and  felt  the  spirit  of  it,  why, 
when  our  friendship  had  grown  so  close,  I  had  made  so 
little  of  it,  had  not  sought  it  out  more  than  I  did ;  why, 
having  so  great  a  treasure  at  hand  I  had  not  taken  it 
fully  ?  And  were  I  a  regretful  person,  I  should  have  had 
many  regrets.  I  cannot  tell  why  I  neglected  so  much. 
There  was,  however,  this  in  common  between  us.  He 
needed  wooing,  and  so  did  I.  Neither  of  us  was  accus- 
tomed to  woo ;  and  neither  of  us  did  it.  So  we  were 
happy  and  affectionate  when  we  met,  but  we  rarely  met. 
We  were  far  from  one  another — he  at  West  Kensington, 
I  here,  and  he  worked  as  long  as  daylight  lasted  and  so 
did  I.  And  at  that  late  hour,  I  was  too  wearied  to  go  to 
Kensington,  and  he  had  nearer  friends  than  I.  Yet  I 
ought  to  have  sought  him — the  lower  should  seek  the 
greater." 

Ajml  11.  "  Oh,  what  wild  confusion  has  gripped  this 
diary  !  It  all  comes  of  not  doing  one's  duty  on  the  day 
on  which  it  ought  to  be  done.    Good  things  done  after 


AT   ^[ALYERN  509 

their  proper  time  turn  out  to  be  bad,  just  as  the  Manna 
did  when  it  was  kept  over  twenty  four  hours." 

Ajnil  15.  "  The  naked  trees  were  like  skeletons  in 
the  faint  blue  mist  which  haunts  [Kensington]  gardens, 
and  which  suits  the  autumn  and  the  clattering  leaves, 
but  not  the  spring.  The  Coming  of  Life  ought  to  be 
gay  and  naughty.  It  has  all  the  air  this  year  of  a 
decadent  young  man,  and  is  just  as  chill  and  impotent. 
0  how  tiresome  these  poets,  whose  Goddess  is  Decay,  are 
to  me.  They  turn  the  world  into  a  Lazaretto,  and  it 
isn't  anything  of  the  kind.  They  are  too  lifeless  to 
celebrate  Life,  too  weak  to  write  of  anything  but  weak- 
ness, and  their  weakness  makes  their  cruelty.  Feeding 
on  disease,  they  deepen  their  own  disease.  And  the 
more  it  deepens,  the  more  active,  like  a  heap  of  writhing 
worms,  becomes  their  self -contemplation.  So  they  are 
wholly  lost  souls  in  this  world.  They  will  find  them- 
selves again  hereafter,  and  will  be  spanked  into  life  by 
the  four  Winds  of  the  Spirit — a  painful  business  for 
them,  but  the  Gods  won't  have  Decay  and  Death  in  the 
Universe  of  the  Spirit." 

Malvern.  May  1.  "  We  are  at  the  Foley  Arms,  a 
comfortable  house.  Our  window  looks  over  the  great 
plain  to  Bredon  Hill  and  beyond  it,  with  Worcester  and 
Tewkesbury  below,  and  woods  and  church  towers  and 
here  and  there  the  glint  of  water.  There  is  a  fine 
expanse  of  sky,  but  it  is  misty  and  gray  this  afternoon. 
The  air  is  heavy  and  rain  is  threatening.  The  garden 
falls  swiftly  down  the  hill,  with  a  great  cedar  on  the 
grassy  slope  and  a  huge  deodara,  and  many  paths  and 
flowers.  All  round  the  pear  trees  and  plum  and  cherry 
are  in  blossom,  and  the  trees  are  just  bursting  into  leaf. 
Delicate  as  a  child's  thought  is  their  tender  green.  The 
everlasting  youth  of  earth  is  in  it.  The  hills  rise 
abruptly  over  the  town  to  over  a  thousand  feet  of  green 
meadow ;  and  black  rocks  lie  on  them  like  resting  stags. 
All  up  the  gorges  grow  the  greening  trees  and  among 
them  the  white  pear  trees  flash  like  banners.  It  is  happi- 
ness to  be  out  of  London,  but  I  am  so  tired  that  I  can 
only  wait  for  full  enjoyment." 


510    EXTRACTS   FROM   THE   DIARY   OF   1899 

2Iay  4.  "I  thought  a  great  deal  about  beginning  my 
work,  but  thinking  was  all  I  did.  I  have  a  positive 
hatred  of  the  pen.  By  and  by  it  will  die  away,  and 
when  I  begin  I  shall  go  on,  but  to  begin  is  the  trial. 
Folk  make  light  of  these  sufferings  of  mine.  They  are 
really  profound.  There  is  the  paper,  there  the  books  and 
there  the  pen.  I  look  at  them,  and  abhor  them.  They 
are  personal  enemies.  To  touch  them  is  like  taking  a 
powder  when  I  was  a  boy.  Then  I  am  afraid  of  them. 
Some  evil  will  happen  if  I  lift  them  :  some  deadly  disease 
will  seize  me.  Then  duty  calls,  and  where  duty  puts  in 
her  oar  I  run  away.  And  then  I  take  a  paint  brush. 
All  the  pain  is  overwhelmed  with  joy.  I  sweep  away 
books,  pen  and  paper  and  do  my  own  will  and  my  own 
pleasure.     It  is  a  sorrowful  record  of  iniquity." 

"  May  5.  I  began  the  Paradiso.  I  never  took  to  Aris- 
totle, and  I  find  the  Paradiso  difficult.  But  I  read  it 
for  the  poetry  and  humanity  of  it,  not  for  its  philosophy 
or  its  theology.  I  read  it  long  ago  during  a  journey 
with  Maud  in  Switzerland,  and  then  its  philosophic 
theology  amused  and  interested  me.  Now  I  am  too  near 
the  actual  revelation  of  the  truths  of  Being  to  care  much 
for  what  Aristotle,  Aquinas  or  Dante  thought  about  them, 
save  that  I  think  that  Dante  and  Aquinas  touched  more 
home  to  the  conception  of  infinite  poAver,  goodness  and 
love  in  infinite  Being;  were  nearer  to  the  idea  of 
Essential  Divinity  than  any  one  is  in  this  present  hour 
of  the  world's  history.  Perhaps  our  moral  idea  of  God 
is  higher  than  theirs — yes — it  certainly  is;  but  our 
intellectual  idea  of  God  is  not  so  high,  nor  so  intelligent. 
Hereafter  when  both  are  mingled  into  one,  men  will 
grasp  a  higher  conception  than  any  as  yet  known." 

May  6.  "  We  took  a  carriage,  and  drove  to  the 
bottom  of  the  Beacon  where  the  British  Camp  was 
entrenched,  and  we  walked,  turning  to  the  left,  along 
the  side  of  the  hill  to  the  outlying  ridge,  beyond  the 
hill  of  the  Citadel :  and  passing  up  the  hollow  came  to 
the  top.  It  is  a  wonderful  series  of  deep  entrenchments, 
extending  fully  a  quarter  of  a  mile  in  length,  and  laid 
out  with  considerable  skill.  .  .  . 


GRASMERE  511 

"  There,  in  the  Arx,  we  lay  on  the  short,  soft  grass 
in  the  sunhght  and  wind,  and  the  wild  past  was  with  me. 
Where  are  they  all,  who  loved,  fought  and  suffered  here '? 
And  what  was  the  use  of  it  all  ?  Perhaps  most  of  them 
have  often  since  returned  to  earth.  I  myself  felt  as  if  I 
had  been  one  of  them — the  poet,  perhaps,  of  the  tribe 
who  sang  the  sieges  of  the  camp.  And  I  seemed  to  see  a 
dark-haired  girl  who  flitted  by,  whom  I  had  loved  because 
of  a  touch  of  strangeness  in  her — not  British,  but  of  the 
elder  race  who  also  had  camped  upon  these  hills." 

May  8.  "  The  only  advantage  the  older  writer  has 
over  the  younger  is  that  he  knows  what  to  leave  out,  and 
has  a  juster  sense  of  proportion.  I  remember  that  when 
Green  wanted  the  Primer  of  English  Literature  to  be 

done,  Mrs asked  if  she  might  try  her  hand  at  it. 

He  said  *  yes,'  and  she  set  to  work.  She  took  a  fancy 
to  Beowulf  and  wrote  twenty  pages  on  it !  At  this  rate 
the  book  would  have  run  to  more  than  a  tliousand  pages." 

Hereford.  May  9.  "  Our  hotel — the  Green  Dragon — 
sounds  wicked,  and  is  actually  opposite  the  Mitre.  The 
Dragon  and  the  Church,  the  devil  and  the  antidote,  and 
the  Devil  green !  A  green  devil,  who  ought  to  be  black, 
is  an  unfair  advantage,  a  fascinating  advantage !  And, 
if  I  may  judge  from  the  noise  of  the  town,  he  has  got  the 
better  of  the  Church." 

Grasmere.  May  10.  "  I  made  a  sketch  of  Helm  Crag 
and  John's  Grove  and  a  mighty  bad  one  it  was.  Then 
E.  left  me  to  post  her  letters.  I  believed  she  enjoyed  as 
much  as  I  the  lying  on  a  green  hill- side  at  last  after 
months  of  London  and  Lancashire  towns  and  Unitarian 
Chapels  and  anthems  which  would  have  expelled  devils 
in  Palestine.  I  walked  slowly  back  by  the  Wishing  Gate. 
It  was  a  beautiful  evening  and  a  red  light  shone  over 
Silverhow  and  lit  the  masses  of  grey  cloud.  I  leant  over 
the  gate  in  gratitude  to  Wordsworth  who  has  filled  the 
valley  with  the  spirit  of  humanity." 

]\[ay  14.  "  The  river  as  it  ran  under  Goody  Bridge 
was  crystal  clear  and  leaping  for  joy.  The  sight  of  it 
seems  to  wash  my  soul.  My  very  brain  is  clarified  by 
it.     The  trees,  their  channels  opened  by  the  rain,  are 


512     EXTRACTS   FROM   THE   DIARY   OF   1899 

pushing  their  leaves,  swift  with  happiness,  out  of  their 
sheaths  to  see  the  world ;  and  the  mountains  look  smiling 
down  on  them.  All  the  air  was  full  of  the  rejoicing 
sound  of  waters,  and  the  birds  were  singing  madly.  Few 
wild  flowers  were  about,  but  the  alder  grove  beyond  Steel 
Bridge  was  waving  with  the  windflowers,  and  I  watched 
them  as  I  sat  on  the  spit  of  rock  which  beneath  the  oak 
pushes  its  point  into  the  gay  stream,  which,  from  its 
brown  clear  pool  beneath  the  bridge,  runs  from  one  foam- 
ing water-break  to  another  and  swirls  round  the  rocky 
island  where  the  thorns  and  ash  trees  grow.  There 
was  a  lively  duck  toboganning  down  the  little  falls, 
and  in  a  state  of  mingled  self-conceit  and  enjoyment 
which  was  very  satisfying — just  like  a  politician  who 
was  getting  successfully  over  a  set  of  small  crises  in 
Parliament." 

May  21.  "The  road  to  that  lonely  valley  [Far- 
Easdale]  was  as  wet  as  ever.  From  every  jutting  crag  a 
stream  was  leaping,  and  the  whole  dale  was  full  of  the 
sound  of  waters.  I  love  the  sound.  It  washes  away  the 
stuff  from  my  heart.  The  little  river  ran  swiftly  among 
its  boulders  and  the  thin  grove  of  trees  hung  over  it, 
dropping  now  and  then  a  leaf  loosened  by  the  wind,  into 
it,  just  like  a  message  of  kindness.  The  meadows  lay 
below  spreading  out  to  Upper  Easdale  and  the  grim 
rocks  above  were  like  forts  on  the  hill-side.  Few  places 
are  more  solitary  than  this  valley.  The  sheep  feed  there, 
and  their  cry  is  always  lonely  and  wild ;  colonies  of  jack- 
daws haunt  the  upper  crags  and  weather  has  no  effect 
upon  their  hoarse  and  lively  talk.  They  are  the  only 
human  things  in  this  far  off  forgotten  place." 

London.  May  30.  "  Went  to  the  Zoo  with  Arthur.^ 
All  the  beasts  were  asleep  when  we  arrived  except  a  bear 
or  two.  The  Polar  Bear  was  like  one  of  our  decadent 
poets,  marching  up  and  down  in  his  own  poems.  The 
two  Grizzly  Bears  are  young  and  innocent,  I  think,  of 
blood.  The  old  gray-headed  villain  who  used  to  be  here, 
and  who  was  blind,  is  dead.  He  had  slain  his  foes.  I 
always  saw  his  claws  ruddy  with  gore.     All  the  lions, 

1  His  brother,  the  Rev,  Arthur  Brooke. 


DEATH   OF   LADY  CASTLETOWN         513 

tigers,  etc.,  were  munching  bones,  like  American 
capitalists.  A  new  giraffe  has  come,  a  young,  guileless 
male;  a  lily,  a  birch- sapling,  destined  to  be  husband 
when  he  reaches  puberty,  of  a  huge  female,  huge  in  com- 
parison with  this  boy,  who  looks  at  him  now  over  a  high 
wooden  ledge  with  infinite  scorn.  The  Rhinoceroses 
were  sound  asleep,  pillowed  on  hay,  and  one  had  covered 
his  eyes  with  straw.  They  snored,  and  shook  the  house. 
The  Hippo  has  got  huge  warts  on  his  hind  feet,  and 
hates  them.  If  ever  I  saw  a  weary  cynic,  I  saw  the 
creature  in  him.  Walked  home  through  the  park,  a 
warm,  dull,  grey,  vicious  day  !     No  colour  anywhere." 

June  4.  "  The  wind  blew  pleasantly  all  day,  and  was 
agreeable  in  my  room  and  in  the  park.  I  love  to  hear 
it  play  on  the  trees,  each  of  which  afford  to  it  a  different 
instrument.  I  studied  once  the  varied  music  the  wind 
makes  in  beech  and  poplar,  in  oak  and  pine,  in  birch, 
willow,  elm  and  larch,  in  plane  and  thorn,  till  it  seemed 
to  my  vain  imagination  that  I  could,  lying  in  a  wood, 
select  out  of  the  great  chorus  of  the  whole  wood  under 
the  fingers  of  the  storm  the  separate  note  of  each 
tree.  How  the  trees  must  love  the  wind  !  They  cannot 
move  from  their  place,  they  are  bound  to  their  neighbours 
for  their  lives ;  they  are  like  monks  in  a  convent,  in- 
evitably fixed  and  liampered.  But  the  wind  is  the  free 
Bohemian  of  the  Universe,  who  goes  over  all  the  earth, 
and  from  north  and  south,  east  and  west,  from  tropic  to 
pole  and  from  pole  to  tropic,  it  brings  to  the  trees  all  the 
news  of  all  the  continents  and  isles  of  ocean,  and  of  all 
the  life  of  men  and  beasts.  Every  wood  is  educated  by 
it,  and  half  the  music  of  the  trees  is  made  up  of  gratitude 
and  of  joy  for  all  they  hear." 

J  unci.  "  Lady  Castletown  is  dead,  and  buried  near 
her  first-born  son  in  Brighton.  A  hundred  memories 
came  back  to  me — my  first  visit  to  her  when  I  was 
sixteen  to  Lisduff — my  first  reading  there  of  the  Arabian 
Nights,  the  girls,  my  boyish  admiration  of  F.,  my  games 
in  the  schoolroom  with  A.  whose  hair  hung  down  her 
back  in  long  plaits,  my  rovings  in  the  new  plantation : 
the  strange  frankness  with  which  Lady  C.  spoke  to  me 


514    EXTRACTS   FROM  THE   DIARY  OF   1899 

of  her  home  Hfe,  her  interest  in  all  I  read,  and  her 
passion  for  fine  poetry,  my  long  drives  with  her  over  that 
wild  country,  my  first  rides  on  the  gray  yellow  pony,  and 
the  wild  gallops  I  had,  hatless,  through  the  woods  and 
up  the  hills.  Even  the  wrath  of  the  grooms  I  remember. 
And  as  to  other  years,  for  I  went  every  year  to  their 
place  for  six  years  and  more,  I  might  fill  this  book  with 
recollections.  There  I  met  Robertson;  there  I  met 
Emma  for  the  first  time.  I  grew  up,  as  it  were,  with 
those  girls,  and  every  year  their  mother  made  more  of 
me  and  told  me  more  of  herself  and  got  more  out  of 
me,  and  made  me  live  in  her  life.  And  now  at  89 
she  has  gone  away.  Well,  there  never  lived  a  woman 
who  could  receive  more  or  with  greater  sympathy  give 
back  what  she  received.  But  she  had  not  much  to  give 
in  return  of  original  thinking  or  feeling.  She  reflected 
men  with  marvellous  lucidity,  and  men  saw  themselves 
in  her  fairer  than  they  were,  for,  of  course,  they  only 
gave  their  best.  She  sent  back  what  they  gave  in  a 
softer  way,  with  a  woman's  reflection,  with  the  atmo- 
sphere of  womanhood  added,  and  they  thought  it  was 
herself  they  saw.  TJuit  is  the  woman  who  pleases  the 
most  of  men  the  most ;  and  who  makes  them  do  their 
best.  Were  it  not  for  her,  Robertson  would  never  have 
been  what  he  has  been  to  the  world." 

^  June  8.  "  I  walked  across  the  park.  The  weather  was 
fair,  but  I  was  not.  The  breeze  ruffled  the  Round  Pond, 
and  the  sails  of  the  ships  the  boys  were  sailing  gleamed 
in  the  sun.  Like  living  things  they  were,  each  with  its 
own  swift  soul ;  and  when  they  came  to  land  they  died. 
Then  the  Great  Powers — which  were  the  boys — took 
them,  as  the  Gods  take  us,  and  altering  their  rudder  and 
their  trim,  set  them  on  the  waters  of  the  world  again, 
with  another  life,  to  sail  another  course.  And  so  from 
hour  to  hour  they  move  as  we  from  life  to  life.  What 
difference  between  us,  save  that  made  by  time,  and  time  is 
nought,  the  shadow  of  our  thought.  .  .  .  How  I  got  home, 
I  do  not  know,  I  was  East  of  the  Sun,  West  of  the  Moon. 
Or  like  Gregory,  I  dreamed  of  myself  in  a  dream,  and 
told  the  dream,  which  was  mine,  as  if  it  were  another 


TAENELL   AND  WILLIAM   MORRIS       515 

person's  of  whom  I  dreamed.  Indeed,  what  is  life  when 
thinking  of  the  past,  but  dreaming  of  a  dream  dreamt  by 
another  who  seems  sometimes  to  be  oneself  ?  They  say 
we  are  what  we  have  made  ourselves,  but  I  think  we  are 
not  that,  but  something  for  ever  beyond  it,  and  that  every 
day  we  are  born  anew,  not  made  by  the  past,  but  fresh- 
made  in  the  present.  And  our  real  Being  is  outside 
altogether  this  shadow-haunted  sleep  that  men  call  life. 
Why,  one  glimpse  of  real  life,  one  touch  of  actual  life 
would  flash  the  whole  of  this  masque  of  shadows  into 
nothingness." 

June  9.  "  Two  biographies  I  have  lately  read — 
Parnell's  life,  and  Morris'  life.  What  a  difference,  and 
how  poor  politics  seem  beside  beauty  as  the  aim  of  the 
work  of  life,  as  of  use  to  make  men  happier.  Parnell  I 
never  met,  of  Morris  I  saw  a  great  deal  once  on  a  time, 
and  I  met  him  off  and  on  for  25  years.  I  saw  him  young 
and  I  saw  him  a  few  months  before  he  died.  He  has 
profoundly  influenced  the  ordinary  life  of  England,  and 
in  the  future  his  deeper  ideas,  now  rarely  understood, 
will,  I  hope,  lead  English  daily  life,  the  life  of  home,  I 
mean.  His  own  life  was  a  wonder  of  work  and  pursuit 
and  of  intensity.  His  character  which  Mackail  has  not 
grasped — no  Oxford  [man]  could  comprehend  it,  unless 
after  twenty  re-incarnations — is  a  strange  study,  extra- 
ordinarily heterogeneous.  People  think  it  simple;  it 
was  amazingly  complex.  No  wonder  he  said,  '  I'm  a 
lonely  chap.'  He  was  indeed.  I  should  like  to  be  able 
to  write  a  tragedy  on  Parnell's  career.  It  is  the  one 
supreme  tragic  subject  I  have  come  across  in  my  life. 
B.  O'Brien  said  to  me  some  time  ago — I  never  forget 
what  you  said  to  me  shortly  after  Parnell's  last  fight  and 
death — *  This  is  the  tragedy  of  Coriolanus  reversed.' 
For  my  part,  I  loathe  the  conduct  of  the  Non  Cons  at 
that  crisis.  Had  I  been  Gladstone  I  had  fought  them. 
As  to  the  Irish— it  is  quite  true  that  they  'flung  their 
leader  to  the  wolves.'  But  Parnell  himself  did  the  wrong 
thing.  Had  he  retired  for  six  months  and  let  the  Hugh 
P.  Hughes'  bay  out  all  their  slaver,  he  would  have  come 
back  stronger  than  ever,  and  in  a  far  better  position. 


516     EXTRACTS   FROM   THE   DIARY  OF    1899 

Yet,  since  he  chose  to  fight,  I  would  have  fought  with 
him,  wrong  or  right." 

June  11.  "Two  peacocks  in  the  grounds  displayed 
their  tails  before  a  peahen,  and  waggled  their  little 
wings.  In  the  spring  they  would  have  gone  to  war. 
The  peahen  did  not  care  about  either  of  them,  but 
looked  longingly  towards  a  third  peacock  away  near  the 
water  among  the  iris  plants.  The  history  of  the  world 
was  there — universal  history — the  woman  and  three 
men,  and  the  woman  the  driving  power.  Yet  no  his- 
torian— only  the  poets — seems  to  be  aware  of  this. 
Any  other  cause  of  the  great  events  of  history  they  find 
out,  but  not  the  cause  of  all  these  causes.  They  go  to 
the  bottom  of  nothing.  The  poets  are  different.  The 
Iliad  understands  human  life.  It  is  quite  natural,  real 
and  interesting  that  two  nations  should  fight  for  ten 
years  for  the  games  of  a  coquette ;  and  the  diplomacy  of 
Europe  and  the  East  has  always  been  at  the  mercy  of 
harlots — married  or  otherwise.  Yet  I  met  a  woman 
to-day  who  is  the  very  kindliest  of  human  beings. 
There  is  no  wrong  she  does  not  make  excuse  for,  nothing 
she  would  not  pardon — the  very  embodiment  of  Thinketh 
no  evil.  I  read  once  that  it  was  said  of  a  similar  cha- 
racter— *  Si  le  bon  Dieu  vous  ressemble,  il  n'y  aura  point 
de  jugement  dernier  :  apres  avoir  bien  reflechi,  Dieu 
dira :  **  Embrassons-nous,  tout  s'explique."  '  " 

MuUlon.  August  21.  "I,  at  least,  am  content.  I 
desire  nothing  more  than  these  wonderful  windswept 
moors  and  radiant  sea,  and  the  sense  that  Nature  is 
greater  than  man  and  God  greater  than  Nature.  Yet, 
I  am  akin  to  God,  and  that,  perhaps,  is  at  the  root  of 
all  my  contentment.  I  hope  so,  at  least,  but  I  ask  no 
tiresome  questions  about  it." 

Dublin.  September  28.  "I  saw  Killiney,  the  Three 
Rock  Mountain,  the  country  where  I  had  played  and 
flirted  and  ran  races  and  jumped  and  made  picnics 
when  I  was  under  twenty  years  of  age.  My  own  image 
flitted  before  me  like  a  phantom,  smiling  and  unaware. 
How  little  I  foresaw,  how  little  I  cared  whether  I  foresaw 
or  not !     The  present  was  enough,  as  it  always  has  been. 


THE   SOULS   IN    THE   PIT  517 

It  is  not  a  bad  thing  to  have  no  past  and  no  future,  but 
it  does  not  make  a  serious  career.  But  then  ambition 
was  left  out  of  my  character." 

London.  October  7.  "  Finished  my  sermon  and 
walked  in  the  Pit,  and  saw  all  the  poor  souls  wandering 
in  the  streets  and  pouring  into  omnibuses  and  whirling 
by  in  hansoms.  What  a  Hell  it  is  !  but  the  people  in  it 
are  mostly  good.  Of  course  there  are  plenty  of  devils, 
and  of  lost  souls,  but  the  greater  number  are,  on  the 
whole,  honest,  affectionate,  kindly  folk  who  live  in  hell 
because  they  can  best  keep  up  their  life  in  it,  and  get 
bread  to  eat  and  raiment  to  put  on,  and  find  the  stimulus 
they  require  to  enable  them  to  move.  Had  they  any 
original  energy,  any  care  for  something  beyond  the 
commonplace,  the  customary,  they  would  break  away. 
But  they  are  afraid  of  being  bored.  I  believe  that  is 
the  main  spur  by  which  the  course  of  nature  makes  us 
gallop,  or  even  walk  through  this  world.  I  shouldn't  be 
bored  in  a  country  life.  I  should  have  plenty  to  do,  but 
90  per  cent,  would  tear  their  hair  and  get  back  to  a  town. 
And  this  curse  is  now  fixed  on  England." 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

LETTERS    TO    VARIOUS    CORRESPONDENTS 

1894-1906 

"  For  my  part  I  have  said  my  say.  ...  It  is  in  the  hands  of  God, 
not  mine,  and  I  am  content  with  whatever  He  chooses  to  do  with  it. 
Moreover  if  I  do  not  do  that  work,  there  are  at  least  a  dozen  other 
things  I  would  like  to  do,  things  of  greater-interest  .  .  .  investigations 
I  want  to  make,  things  I  want  to  write,  beauty  I  wish  to  love  with 
greater  knowledge  of  it.  Oh,  I  have  enough  to  fill  twenty  more  years 
with,  easily.  And  when  the  twenty  years  were  up,  I  should  have 
found  out  other  things  to  pursue,  enough  to  fill  forty  years,  and  so  on, 
till  Eternity  were  tuW— {Diary,  August  29,  1903.) 

To  Mis  Crackanthorpe. 

"Bournemouth.    Nov.  5,  1894. 

**  I  HAVE  not  got  the  Yellow  Book.  This  is  not  the  place 
for  its  sale.  ...  I  never  cared  a  button  for  reading  save 
as  a  means  for  making  something,  and  even  for  that, 
reading  is  rather  an  obstacle  than  a  help.  All  the 
knowledge  one  wants  is  in  the  air  of  human  life  and  in 
the  natural  world,  and  observation  and  love  are  the 
means  of  getting  at  it,  and  securing  it.  To  talk  about 
books  and  to  show  off  one's  critical  faculty  on  them  from 
dinner  to  dinner  seems  the  use  but  not  the  usefulness  of 
books,  but  to  talk  of  human  lives,  of  men  and  women  as 
they  make  their  campaign  in  the  world,  that  is  the  use 
and  the  vitality  of  conversation,  and  to  penetrate  into 
one  woman  or  into  one  man  is  for  a  man  and  a  woman 
the  intensest  adventure,  and  needs  as  much  quickness, 
courage,  flexibility  of  effort  and  plan,  as  much  enthu- 
siasm, passion,  patience  and  true  love  of  the  end,  as  any 


THE  ANCIENT   ROMANS  519 

pioneer  into  wild  lands  has  ever  displayed.^  It  used  to 
be  my  greatest  pleasure,  my  most  unfailing  interest, 
but  though  it  still  remains  a  hundred  times  more  de- 
lightful than  any  book  or  any  knowledge-grubbing,  I  do 
not  care  for  it  so  much  now.  Nature  now  amuses  me 
more  than  humanity,  what  she  does,  not  how  or  why  she 
does  it.  Therefore  I  feel  with  you  that  out  of  London 
and  in  the  woods,  but  with  racing  streams  always  in 
them,  is  the  better  life,  and  I  hope  I  may  have  it  in 
full  and  undisturbed  possession  before  I  die.  At  any 
rate,  four  years  will  see  me  clear  of  Bedford  Chapel,  and 
then  I  shall  live  somewhere  in  the  north,  where,  as  in 
Grasmere,  I  can  get  off  the  road  anywhere  in  ten 
minutes  and  into  the  '  Quiet '  which  even  Caliban  saw 
was  behind  all  things.  I  dare  say  I  shall  go  to  Venice 
for  at  least  a  month,  but  I  want  to  see  the  small  towns 
on  the  coast  below  Naples,  I  have  never  looked  at 
Amalfi,  Salerno,  and  the  rest,  and  there  is  also  Sicily. 
Rome  I  do  not  think  I  could  endure.  I  respect  but  hate 
the  ancient  Romans  and  their  whole  type ;  and  as  to 
the  Medieval  lot,  they  were  uniformly  detestable.  Even 
their  Bohemianism  was  vulgar.  They  never  had  any 
natural  sense  of  beauty,  and  all  their  good  art  came 
from  the  outside;  Raffaelle  from  Urbino,  Virgil  from 
Mantua,  etc.  etc.  I  suppose  you  will  contradict  this, 
and  indeed  it  is  challengeable,  but  what  is  the  use  ?  The 
pure  Roman  was  never  an  artist,  and  the  exceptions,  if 
any,  prove  the  rule.  What  is  beautiful  in  Rome  is  the 
atmosphere,  a  slumbering  clearness,  softer  than  milk, 
in  which  all  things  seem  as  if  reflected  in  pure  waters 
as  calm  as  satisfied  joy.  But  here  ends  my  paper,  and 
here  will  end  j'our  patience,  as  thin  probably  as  paper." 

To  Miss  K.  Warren. 

"  San  Remo.    April  5, 1895. 

"...  Why  you  should  lose  your  friend  when  she  is 
married  I  cannot  tell.  You  have  only  to  change  your 
front  a  bit,  accept  certain  differences  which  are  inevit- 
able, put  aside  certain  wants  and  demands  of  your  own 

VOL.  II.  M 


520    LETTERS  TO  VARIOUS  CORRESPONDENTS 

and  certain  claims,  and  you  will  find  a  new  woman, 
quite  as  interesting  in  another  way  as  the  last.  But 
friends  before  marriage  keep  up  the  same  claims  after  their 
friend  (there's  sweet  grammar  for  you)  is  married,  and 
then  of  course  everything  goes  to  shipwreck.  No  allow- 
ance is  made  for  changed  relations,  and  that  change  the 
greatest  that  can  happen  to  man  or  woman !  I  hope 
she  will  not  build  her  life  on  the  theories  of  Ibsen. 
*  Dresses  and  furniture '  are  most  delightful  topics. 
There  is  nothing  that  interests  me  more  when  they  are 
really  wanted.  I  have  talked  *  chiffons '  for  hours 
together,  and  as  to  furniture,  it  is  an  enchanting  subject. 
I  am  wonderfully  well  now.  This  place  has  exactly 
suited  me.  .  .  . 

"  England  is  to  me  a  land  of  exile  where  I  scarcely 
breathe  in  prison.  Italy  is  my  native  land,  my  home, 
my  love,  where  every  breath  I  draw  is  free.  I  don't 
know  what  is  doing  in  your  country.  I  have  not  opened 
an  English  paper  for  two  months.  Are  the  Tories  in  ? 
Is  the  Queen  alive?  Has  Gladstone  returned?  How 
did  the  County  Council  elections  go  ?  Is  the  frost  over  ? 
Are  the  smells  of  Oxford  Street  less?  The  noise  is  no 
doubt  greater." 

To  Mrs  Crackanthorpe. 

"  Grand  Canal,  Venice.     May  28,  1895. 

"...  Pisa  is  lonely  and  forgotten  and  out  of  the  modern 
w^orld,  and  I  like  it  for  that,  independent  of  its  art  and 
architecture.  There  are  few  places  which  nowadays 
breathe  peace,  but  the  Campo  Santo  is  one  of  them. 
And  its  peace  comes  united,  wing  in  wing,  with  loveli- 
ness. The  grass  was  long  and  full  of  flowers,  the  swallows 
flitted  and  squealed  everywhere,  in  and  out  of  the  arches 
and  the  tombs,  and  dipped  into  the  roses  as  if  into 
water ;  the  sky  was  pale  blue,  and  a  low  wind  wandered 
about  hke  a  fairy.  No  one  was  there  but  an  ancient 
gardener,  who  hummed  old  love  songs  like  a  Trouba- 
dour. I  too  don't  care  for  the  Leaning  Tower ;  but  the 
reason  it  is  not  liked  is  that  all  the  arched  stories,  save 


THE   GHOST   OF   SHELLEY  521 

the  first,  are  of  equal  height.  There  is  no  variety.  But 
the  Cathedral  is,  I  think,  the  loveliest  in  Italy.  And  it  is 
set  in  wild  grass,  so  that  it  brings  with  it  a  remembrance 
of  EngUsh  cathedrals — and  of  course  a  contrast.  And 
that  has  charm,  for  each  member  of  the  contrast  has  its 
own  beauty  and  its  own  fitness  for  its  place.  I  drove  to 
the  Bocca  d'Arno,  and  spent  an  afternoon  on  the  sea- 
shore and  by  the  river  at  its  opening  into  the  sea.  That 
is  a  place  for  artists.  The  sea,  the  river,  the  dark  forest- 
line,  the  distant  mountains,  the  long,  low  shore,  are  all 
in  their  right  place,  at  their  right  distance,  and  in  their 
due  proportion ;  and  it  is  drenched  in  sentiment,  not 
human,  but  of  Nature's  very  self.  Then  I  went  to  drive  in 
the  pine  forest,  and  to  wander  through  it  by  the  Fiume 
Morto  to  the  sea;  and  I  walked  a  long  time  through 
those  wild  and  solitary  woods,  where  the  nightingales 
were  singing  in  a  madness  of  joy.  I  had  last  been  there 
in  '75,  twenty  years  ago,  and  the  place  was  full  of 
associations  to  me.  I  knew  it  well.  For  three  days  I 
was  there  from  eight  in  the  morning  till  eight  in  the 
evening.  Then  I  went  to  Yiareggio,  to  see  the  place 
where  Shelley's  body  was  burned.  That  too  was 
romantic  enough  to  satisfy  me.  A  belt  of  pines,  a 
vast  low  shore  of  white  sand  and  sand  dunes  with  waving 
plumes  of  *  vent,'  and  lovely  salt  pools,  and  white-sailed 
feluccas  on  the  blue  sea.  One  little  cottage  was  near, 
and  the  woman  came  out  and  brought  me  with  the  most 
dehghtful  and  interested  talk  to  the  very  spot  where  the 
Inglese,  as  they  called  Shelley,  was  burned.  The 
wooden  cross  which  marked  the  spot  had  been  swept 
away  by  an  inundation  of  the  neighbouring  stream 
which  had  eaten  up  all  the  old  boundaries.  No  one  was 
there  but  a  crowd  of  fishermen,  who  were  dragging  in 
their  net  to  shore.  The  mountains,  which  press  down 
too  close  and  too  high  to  the  shore,  were  fortunately  half 
concealed  by  huge  storm-clouds  pressing  up  against 
their  flanks  and  breaking  into  white  vapour  above  their 
peaks.  I  saw  the  ghost  of  Shelley  flittmg  by  in  a  drift 
of  mist,  and  his  eyes  were  soft  and  burning.  '  I  am  now,' 
he  cried,  '  a  creature  of  the  earth  and  water,  and  the 


522    LETTEKS  TO  VARIOUS  CORRESPONDENTS 

nursling  of  the  sky.'  '  Alas,'  I  said,  '  why  ?  But  per- 
haps that  is  best.'  '  Yes,  that  is  best,'  he  said,  and  the 
thin  fleece  in  which  he  was  melted  in  the  sun.  After- 
wards I  went  to  Lucca,  a  more  beautiful  place  almost 
than  Pisa,  and  had  a  happy  time  on  the  green  ramparts 
amidst  her  cirque  of  mountains,  and  then  I  came  to 
Florence,  where  I  stayed  three  weeks,  and  saw  my 
friends,  and  did  very  little  sight-seeing.  I  only  went  to 
two  galleries,  and  on  the  last  day  to  see  half  a  dozen 
pictures  which  I  love.  I  did  not  visit  the  Uffizii  at  all. 
But  I  made  the  girls  see  what  they  ought  to  see,  and 
talk  to  me  about  it  in  the  afternoon  outside  of  the  rattle 
and  clatter  of  the  town.  And  we  finished  with  the  earth- 
quake. The  undulations  were  all  very  well  and  curious. 
I  didn't  mind  them ;  but  the  first  upward  heave  and 
spiral  twist  of  the  earth,  preceded  by  a  revolting  clash- 
ing sound,  as  of  stormy  cymbals,  was  villainous,  even 
sickening.  It  was,  however,  and  this  was  a  comfort, 
a  really  good  specimen  of  an  earthquake ;  none  of  your 
babies,  but  a  well-developt  youth.  ...  I  waited  four 
days  for  further  developments,  and  left  when  all  was 
quiet,  being  due  in  Venice.  And  here  I  am,  thank 
goodness,  at  last,  in  peace,  far  from  the  pavements  and 
the  horses'  hooves  and  the  cracking  of  whips,  and  the 
yells  of  the  young  Italians  going  home  at  night.  I  hate 
noise  with  every  nerve  in  my  body.  But  here  there  is 
only  the  splash  of  the  oar.  The  gondoliers  go  to  sleep  at 
eleven,  and  the  night  is  as  still  as  a  forest  fountain." 

To  Mrs  Crackanthorpe. 

"  Baveno.    July  23,  1895. 

"...  I  answered  all  the  rest  of  your  letter,  but  I 
forget  all  Tsaid,  and  the  time  has  gone  by  to  answer.  I  had 
a  happy  time  at  Venice.  I  saw  little  or  nothing  (save  as  I 
wandered  to  and  fro  by  chance)  except  the  stones  of  the 
city  and  the  sea  changes.  I  went  to  Verona  for  three 
days,  and  then  I  did  sight-seeing  for  the  sake  of  the 
girls,  and  then  I  came  on  here,  where  there  is  quiet, 
beauty,  and  change.     There  is  only  one  other  person  in 


WILL   NOT   WRITE   A  PLAY  523 

the  hotel,  and  we  live  by  fancies  and  impulse.  There 
are  no  buildings,  no  pictures,  and  no  people ;  nothing 
but  the  waters  and  the  blue  hills,  and  the  ^Yild  woodland 
cleft  by  streams  as  clear  as  in  your  own  northern  land. 
I  do  nothing  and  live  from  moment  to  moment.  It 
must  all  end  soon,  but  while  it  lasts  it  is  dehghtful.  It  is 
well  worth  being  ill.  I  have  given  up  Bedford  Chapel. 
You  threatened  that  when  I  came  back  you  would  have 
found  another  man  for  Sunday.  Well,  you  will  be 
obliged  to  find  him,  if  you  go  to  church,  for  you  won't 
hear  me  again.  It  has  become  out  of  the  question  going 
on  for  many  good  reasons.  The  lease  is  up,  anyway,  in 
three  years.  The  worry  of  the  whole  thing  is  the  main 
reason  I  have  not  written  before  this.  It  had  all  to  be 
settled  quickly  and  at  a  distance.  But  noM'  it  is  done. 
Nearly  forty  years  of  work  of  one  kind  is  closed.  What 
do  you  say  ?    I  need  a  little  sympathy.     Farewell." 

To  Mrs  Crackanthorpe . 

"  Brunnen,  Lac  Lucerne. 
"  July,  1896. 

**  Write  a  play  indeed  !  I  couldn't  write  a  play.  You 
said  once  I  could.  I  said  no.  Why  do  you  say  it  again  ? 
I  have  no  intention,  no  more  than  a  wren's  feather  would 
brush  away  if  Titania  used  it.  I've  no  talent  for  con- 
versation, and  as  to  making  telling  situations  or  inter- 
striking  *  points '  at  the  proper  places  for  actors,  I  could 
no  more  do  it  than  I  could  make  a  nerve.  Do  you  want 
me  to  prove  my  inability  in  order  to  amuse  you,  or  to 
make  me  my  own  laughing  stock,  or  to  enable  you  to  say 
to  your  friends,  as  no  doubt  you  said  of  Henry  James, 
'  Mr  Brooke  tried  too,  he  also  failed.  If  men  can  do  one 
thing,  they  think  they  can  do  all  things.  We  women 
know  our  limifll.  It  is  true  we  desire  evcrythimj  ;  that  is 
our  definition  ;  but  we  don't  try  to  do  everything.' 

"  I  am  astonished  at  all  the  books  you  read,  and  so 
seriously  too,  as  if  they  were  important.  The  books  I 
read  belong  to  what  I  am  doing.  Yours  do  not.  Of 
course  I  read  novels  off  and  on,  but  never  seriously  as 


524    LETTERS  TO  VARIOUS  CORRESPONDENTS 

you  do.  They  run  through  my  head  like  wind  through 
a  tree,  making  a  pleasant  rustling  noise,  and  a  joyous 
little  disturbance,  and  then  I  forget  them  as  the  tree 
forgets  the  wind.  And  I  believe  I  like  that  type  of  novel 
which  is  the  exact  opposite  to  that  which  you  Uke.  All 
the  same,  I  see  you  like  Stevenson.  So  do  I.  Alas,  I 
have  just  looked  at  your  letter,  and  you  say  it  is  not  his 
story-telling  power  you  admire,  just  what  I  do  admire. 
Of  course,  I  also  like  his  other  qualities,  and  above  all, 
the  natural  unpremeditated  subtleties  of  human  nature's 
vagaries  in  which  he  unconsciously  involves  his  characters, 
and  then  when  he  does  become  conscious  of  what  he  has 
done,  his  naif  pleasure  in  it,  and  the  clever  way  in  which 
he  twists  hie  characters  out  of  the  tangled  confusion. 
That  is  just  like  human  life,  and  what  I  admire  most  is 
not  his  cleverness  in  getting  his  folk  out  of  the  impasse, 
but  the  period  in  the  story  in  which  he  is  unconscious 
of  what  he  is  doing  and  is  working  just  like  Nature  her- 
self. As  to  Lord  Selbourne's  Life,  why  do  you  read  a 
book  of  that  kind,  and  done  by  a  relation  too  ?  One 
knows  beforehand  all  it  will  be,  and  that  more  than  half 
will  only  be  of  interest  to  the  relative  and  none  to  the 
world.  Didn't  he  edit  a  '  Book  of  Praise  ' — hymns,  I 
believe  ?  This  daughter's  book  is  no  doubt  a  continu- 
ation. I  don't  care  myself  for  athletic  goodness.  The 
Hercules-Saint  is  dreadful.  How  I  was  bored ;  oh,  how 
I  was  bored  by  muscular  Christianity,  but  weak  goodness 
is  worse.  Whimpering  Christianity,  without  clear  joy, 
without  keen  sight,  with  no  sound  mind,  isolated  in  its 
own  park,  and  failing,  where  it  most  fails,  in  charity  to 
outsiders  and  sinners,  never  eating  and  drinking  with 
publicans  and  harlots,  that  I  was  never  bored  with,  for  I 
avoided  it  like  the  plague  !  .  .  . 

"  Among  your  studies  in  selfishness  write  one  on  the 
aged  parents  who  sacrifice  their  daughters  on  the  shrine 
of  their  illnesses,  or  what  they  call  their  love.  Call  it 
The  Moloch.  Father,  for  the  fathers  are  much  worse  than 
the  mothers.  They  will  not  let  their  daughters  leave 
home ;  they  call  them  back  after  a  fortnight  if  they  do 
let  them  go  :  they  keep  them  always  in  attendance :  they 


MOLOCH  FATHERS  625 

claim  their  whole  life  :  and  the  poor  girls  are  thirty  or 
forty  before  death  releases  them  from  a  tyrant  who  has 
dono  all  in  the  name  of  paternal  love  and  duty.  And 
the  girls  have  learnt  nothing,  seen  nothing,  are  unable 
to  do  anything.  Has  a  father  no  duties  to  his  daughters  ? 
Is  he  iov  ever  to  trample  on  love  in  the  name  of  love '? 
To  claim  every  kind  of  sacrifice  and  to  sacrifice  nothing 
himself'?    Write  this  article  and  write  it  sternly." 

To  Mrs  Crackanthorpe. 

"  Axenfels,  Lac  Lucerne, 
"  Aug.  22,  '96. 

"...  0,  you  have  no  idea  how  we  have  been  bothered 
with  rain,  and  blasted  with  lightning,  and  crippled  with 
cold,  and  cabined,  confined,  and  crinkled  with  pretended 
sunshine.  I'm  sick  of  the  '  whisper  of  the  rain  '  and  the 
'  voice  of  waterfalls,'  and  everything  for  which  West- 
morland is  famous.  But  all  the  water-sounds,  and  the 
waters  of  heaven  themselves,  in  Westmorland,  are  soft 
and  tender.  No  one  minds  wet  weather  there,  not  even  I. 
But  here  it  is  villainous.  It  rains  daggers,  and  the 
noise  of  the  streams  is  like  a  tiger's  growl  at  evening, 
and  when  you  are  wet  through,  your  heart,  your 
stomach,  your  lungs  are  drenched  also  to  their  thinnest 
and  remotest  cell.  It  seems  as  if  it  would  need  an 
eternity  in  which  to  get  warm  again.  *  Why  did  I  not 
leave?'  Yes,  why?  I  was  here,  and  I  had  not  the 
energy  to  move.  The  sun  has  just  g,ppeared,  a  sickly 
glare  over  an  earth  wan  with  water.  And  the  snow 
lies  thick  on  the  hill-tops,  freezing  my  very  thought. 
To-morrow  I  may  be  warm  again.  Even  for  the  dim 
hope  of  it  I  thank  God. 

"  When  you  have  read  this,  do  the  Invalid  in  your 
'  selfish  studies,'  the  hater  of  himself  and  of  the  race, 
the  hater  of  Nature  and  the  Universal  frame. 

"  '  A  pathless  comet  and  a  curse, 
The  menace  of  the  Universe  I ' 

"  I  agree  with  you  about  Jameson,  but  if  he  and  the 
lot  had  been  put  to  prisoners'  work  and  misery,  far  less 


526    LETTERS  TO  VARIOUS  CORRESPONDENTS 

people  would  agree  with  you  than  do  at  present.  So, 
perhaps,  it  is  just  as  well.  And  I  believe  that  they 
are  not  as  well  treated  as  we  at  first  were  led  to  think. 
Society  has  played  the  fool  enough  around  them.  Had 
they  been  set  to  pick  oakum,  it  would  have  played  the 
fool  so  furiously  that  it  might  have  embroiled  us  in  war. 
After  a  time,  the  chief's  words  will  settle  down  into  the 
opinion  of  all  men.  These  lions  of  society  in  1896  will 
be  the  ordinary  oxen  of  society  in  1897.  I  have  seen  a 
whole  menagerie  of  them  year  after  year  ;  and  they  have 
all  changed  into  their  real  selves. 

•"0  Oberon,  what  changes  I  have  seen  ! 
Methought,  I  was  enamoured  of  an  ass ! ' 

"  I  have  been  writing,  hackwork,  no  more.  And  just 
because  it  is  hackwork,  I  shall  have  to  write  it  all  over 
again.  The  limitations  of  intelligence,  on  which  Browning 
was  always  insisting,  and  trying  to  comfort  us  for  them 
by  telling  us  that  they  were  the  proof  of  our  having  infi- 
nite intelligence  hereafter,  are,  whatever  he  says,  very 
disconcerting.  But  Browning  was  right  in  telling  ns 
that  it  was  double  damnation  to  be  content  with  them, 
as  that  pseudo-Pagan  Goethe  said.  We  must  bear  them, 
but  not  be  content  with  them.  I  was  never  good  at 
bearing ;  kissing  the  rod  never  suited  me.  I  prefer  the 
temper  of  Job,  and  furious  as  he  was,  full  of  wrath, 
challenging  even  God  Himself,  yet  the  New  Testament 
writers  who  knew  what  was  in  man,  and  that  this  stormy 
rage,  provided  it  persevered  in  believing  God  to  be  the 
ultimate  Justice,  was  the  truest  kind  of  endurance,  called 
him  patient,  a  very  different  kind  of  patience  from  that 
which  our  religiosities  recommend  to  us  as  pleasing  to 
God.  No,  indeed,  I  imagine  that  Christ  was  thinking  of 
Job's  patience  when  He  said,  '  The  Kingdom  of  Heaven 
suffereth  violence,  and  the  violent  take  it  by  force.'  But 
what  has  this  to  do  with  me  or  Axenf els  or  with  you  ?  It 
is  only  the  transient  bubbling  up  to  the  surface  of  an 
under  current. 

"And  now  good-bye,  I  may  be  in  a  better  temper  in 
Italy." 


GEORGE   SAND  527 

To  Mrs  Crackanthorpe. 

•'Baveno.     Oct.  7,  96. 

"  I  ought  not  to  be  depressed,  though  I  am,  for  one 
would  think  this  world  a  paradise,  so  lovely  are  the  days, 
so  pure  the  light,  so  profound  the  calm,  so  various  the 
colour  and  sheen  and  glory  of  all  things.  I  am  not  at 
Coleridge's  point  of  dejection  when  he  saw  but  did  not 
feel  how  beautiful  the  world  was.  I  both  see  and  feel  it, 
but  there  is  a  middle  point  in  the  absence  of  joy,  and 
there  I  am  at  present.  I  ought  not  to  write  to  any  one. 
I  sent  you  my  sermons.  May  you  not  be  bored  with 
them,  if  you  read  them.  They  won't  sell,  and  on  one 
side  that  is  consolation,  on  another  it  is  a  bore.  But 
perhaps  they  will  do  better  than  I  think.  The  publisher 
begged  for  them.  I  told  him  they  were  no  good  as  selling 
property,  that  after  seven  or  eight  hundred  had  gone,  no 
more  would  go,  that  the  book  would  pay  its  expenses  and 
no  more.  Still  he  would  have  it.  It  is  not  my  fault 
that  they  were  published.  I've  almost  finished  another 
book  here  on  Early  BngHsh  Literature  up  to  Alfred,  a 
reduction  of  what  I  have  already  done,  and  then  the 
history  carried  on  to  the  Conquest.  I  hope  to  get  this 
out  in  March,  if  I  keep  well.  But  all  the  difficult  part 
is  over,  the  rest  is  revising,  inserting  new  things,  etc., 
etc.,  and  that  is  easy. 

"  I  have  had  G.  Sand's  '  Histoire  de  ma  Vie '  for* 
many  years.  I  remember  giving  it  to  my  wife  and 
reading  it  at  the  same  time.  Then  I  gave  it  to  Honor 
who  has  it  now.  The  first  part  when  she  came  first  to 
Paris  amused  me  most,  the  rest  interested  me  more, 
because  it  was  full  of  more  mature  thinking,  especially 
on  her  own  subject.  She  was  one  of  those  women  who 
could  when  she  pleased  entirely  separate  the  senses 
from  the  soul,  and  yet  when  she  liked  blend  them  into 
one  so  that  each  alternately  became  the  other.  In  this 
way  she  could  live  three  separative  lives — not  only  two. 
This  gave  her  that  great  variety  which  enabled  her  to 
charm  and  retain  so  many  various  types  of  men. — If 
you  want  to  read  a  life,  equally  vivid,  but  as  different 


528    LETTERS  TO  VARIOUS  CORRESPONDENTS 

from  G.  Sand's  as  two  things  can  possibly  be,  read 
Alex.  Dumas'  History  of  his  early  life  and  his  first 
struggle  in  Paris.  They  are  both  lives  of  literary 
persons,  that  is  their  only  point  of  contact.  I  always 
finish  with  Trente  Ans  de  Paris." 


To  Mrs  Crackanthorpe. 

"Dunster,  Somerset.     July  9,  '97. 

"  Till  to-day  we  have  had  exquisite  weather.  I  did  not 
care  for  Lynton,  and  came  back  here.  Lynton  is  spoiled, 
and  the  sea  of  the  Bristol  Channel  is  a  yellow  and  green 
tide  way  and  little  more,  unlike  the  great  Cornish  aqua- 
marine swell  which  rolls  in  after  three  thousand  miles  of 
doing  its  unchecked  and  unmitigated  will.  Science,  too, 
has  got  into  the  place,  and  publishers,  and  the  villa 
builder.  Here  is  a  bit  of  old  England,  a  long  straggling 
village  with  wooden  eaves,  and  Elizabethan  windows, 
and  overshadowing  doorways,  and  a  big  historic  castle  on  a 
tor  with  an  old  family  in  it  and  many  sieges  in  its  record, 
and  a  noble  deer  park  climbing  into  a  moor,  full  of  dells 
and  knolls  and  oak  woods,  and,  ten  minutes  from  the 
hotel,  the  solitary  folding  and  unfolding  of  fifty  homeless 
moors,  and,  only  in  the  distance,  the  sea.  Few  are  the 
tourists  and  those  mostly  on  their  honeymoon,  dear 
people,  who  sit  under  oaks  among  violets  and  are  quite 
in  harmony  with  the  antique  world." 

To  Mrs  CrackantJiorpe. 

"  Dublin.    Aug.  13,  '97. 

"  I  have  read  Henry  James'  preface  and,  to  tell  you 
the  plain  truth,  I  do  not  understand  half  of  it.  I  do 
understand  that  he  intends  to  say  pleasant  and  true 
things,  and  that  he  has  been  at  some  pains  to  analyse 
and  describe  his  impressions  of  your  son's  character  and 
work,  and  that  those  impressions  are  such  as  you  would 
like,  but  he  has  now  arrived  at  so  involved  and  tormented 
a  style  that  I  find  the  greatest  difficulty  in  discovering 
what  he  means.     I  read  and  read  again  and  again  his 


SPRING   AT  GRASMERE  529 

sentences,  and  it  is  like  listening  to  a  language  I  do  not 
know.  I  read  his  last  novel  but  one,  and  I  was  in  the 
same  helpless  condition.  I  believe  this  style  is  the  fine 
flower  of  modern  culture  at  present,  and  that  not  to 
appreciate  it  is  to  be  in  the  outer  darkness,  but  I  prefer 
outer  darkness. 

"  This  land  received  me  with  showers  and  sunlight. 
It  has  lovely  skies,  like  the  eyes  of  its  women,  an  infi- 
nitely subtle  colouring.  It  suits  my  soul,  but  not  my 
body.  I  hope  you  are  enjoying  the  quiet  land,  and 
getting  stronger." 

To  Mrs  CrackanOiorpe. 

"  Brighton.     Oct.  23,  '97. 

"...  I  hope  you  liked  Dove  Cottage,  and  that  the 
garden  pleased  you.  You  see  I  have  not  made  the  place 
into  a  Museum,  as  some  folk  wanted  me  to  do.  I  shall  put 
up  more  pictures,  and  a  few  books,  first  editions,  etc.,  of 
the  poems,  and  that  is  all.  But  the  garden  shall  always 
be  carefully  tended.  There  is  a  bed  which  is  a  bore,  but  I 
couldn't  help  it. 

"  You  say  Autumn  is  the  best  time  for  Grasmere.  I 
allow  to  the  full  its  beauty,  especially  when  the  hill-sides 
are  rolled  in  blood  when  the  fern  descends,  among  the 
junipers,  from  the  ridge  of  Silverhow  and  Loughrigg  to 
the  dark  lake  below,  but  I  have  seen  it  also  in  Spring 
and  I  am  not  sure  that  then  the  place  is  not  lovelier 
still,  at  least  in  that  brief  period  when  all  the  trees  are 
of  their  own  individual  green,  each  kind  different,  and 
ranging,  like  notes  in  an  octave,  from  the  palest  yellow 
green  through  faint  red  to  the  bold  black  green  of  the 
buds  of  the  ash.  Then  the  flowers  are  lovelier  than 
those  of  autumn,  and  the  daffodils  toss  their  happy 
heads.     No— Spring  is  the  best.  .  .  . 

"  I  hke  the  Tennyson  book  :  and  I  do  not  dislike  the 
affectionate  reverence  of  the  Son,  on  the  contrary.  It  is 
natural  a  son  should  love  and  exalt  his  father,  and  the 
natural  affection  is  so  good  that  it  drowns  any  feeling  of 
the  '  Too  much  '  I  might  have  had.     Moreover,  that  the 


530    LETTERS  TO  VARIOUS  CORRESPONDENTS 

book  is  really  well  done  is  plain  from  your  deep  interest 
in  the  subject,  in  Tennyson  himself.  The  book  has 
exalted  the  man  higher  than  the  public  estimate  of  him. 
"  '  Tennyson  says  nothing  to  you.'  He  speaks  to  me, 
not  as  a  Prophet,  or  a  consoler,  or  a  thinker.  He  speaks 
to  me  because  he  was  a  poet.  I  have  sometimes  wondered 
whether  you  cared  at  all,  or  but  little,  for  poetry,  as  such. 
But  if  I  go  on,  I  shall  catch  it.     So  good-bye." 

To  his  daughter  Maud. 

"  London.    February,  '97. 

'' .  .  .  The  Church  ^  was  full  yesterday,  aisles  and  all, 
and  many  were  turned  away  from  the  doors.  The 
service  was  appalling ;  it  made  me  miserable.  Of  course, 
they  cannot,  while  tliat  goes  on,  have  a  good  attendance. 
Icy,  my  darling,  polar ;  bad  singing,  bad  reading,  dread- 
ful prayers  ;  good  things  said,  but  said  badly.  I  got  into 
the  pulpit  in  a  state  of  depression.  It  was  fully  five 
minutes  before  what  I  was  saying  overcame  the  chilly 
atmosphere.  I  think  it  quite  cruel  to  use  people  so,  and 
all  to  keep  up  what  is  an  old  and  outworn  symbol 
of  resistance  to  the  forms  of  the  Church.  I  say,  take 
all  that  the  Church  has  of  ritual  which  does  not  conflict 
with  the  great  truths,  use  it,  modify  it,  add  to  it  more 
and  richer  symbolism,  and  make  the  service  of  God  rush 
like  a  gay  river  of  Joy.  But  no,  we  must  do  what  our 
Presbyterian  fathers  did,  as  if  the  Past  laid  a  dead  hand 
upon  us.  .  .  .  No  thanks,  no  civility  of  any  kind  from 
the  parson  of  the  place.  'I  hope  you  didn't  find  the 
Chapel  too  hot ' ;  that  was  all  the  courtesy  I  got." 

To  William  Brooke, 

"  Loudon.     Oct.  1897. 

"...  I  came  home  last  night,  leaving  Leeds  at  5.30. 
The  tour,  so  far  as  congregations  went,  was  a  success. 
All  the  Churches,  three  of  them,  at  which  I  preached 

'  A  place  of  worship  belonging  to  the  Uuitarians  in  which  he  had 
preached. 


MANCHESTER  AND  LEEDS  531 

were  full  to  the  doors.  Whether  the  preaching  was 
worth  much,  I  cannot  tell.  On  the  first  Sunday  I  was 
really  ill,  and  do  not  know  how  I  got  through.  But  the 
parson  and  his  wife  were  everything  that  was  kind  to 
me,  and  charming  people  in  themselves.  The  service 
on  Wednesday  evening  was  not  as  pleasant  to  me.  The 
Chapel  at  Leeds,  Mill  Hill  Chapel,  an  historic  place,  is 
good  Gothic  of  50  years  ago,  well  built,  well  Ht,  and 
prettily  arranged.  The  singing  was  good  and  full,  the 
service  full  of  fervour.  I  was  interested  and  excited. 
The  parson  is  Charles  Hargrove,  a  gentleman  and  a 
scholar.  He  too  was  more  than  kind  to  me.  .  .  . 
^NFanchester  was  incredibly  noisy,  but  I  got  a  quiet  bed- 
room. I  drove  from  ]\ranchester  to  Leeds  on  a  lovely 
day,  Italian  in  clearness  and  colour.  And  every  bit  of 
the  drive  was  interesting.  The  tall  chimneys  looked 
romantic,  the  stream-fed  dells  with  the  great  mills  and 
grouped  cottages  made  some  most  charming  pictures. 
I  had  never  seen  the  country  before — only  black  mist — 
and  I  had  never  seen  the  moorlands  high  above  the 
teeming  vales.  Could  England  but  consume  her  smoke, 
the  manufacturing  country  would  be  pleasant  to  see. 
The  vast  activity,  the  humanity  which  looks  out  of  every 
hollow  and  bend  in  the  hills  adds  to  the  landscape  a 
sentiment  which  is  not  felt  in  the  wild  country.  .  .  . 

"I've  read  Tennyson's  Life.  It  is  well  done,  very 
well  done.  People  complain  that  the  tiger-roughness  of 
Tennyson  is  unrepresented.  But  a  son  could  not  repre- 
sent that,  and  what  Hallam  gives  is  what  no  one  has 
given.  We  see  the  best  side  of  the  man.  Why  should 
we  see  the  ill  ?  The  best  side  is  the  truest  side.  The 
ill  side  is  the  twist  away  from  the  true.  You  will  have 
to  buy  the  book.     It  is  one  to  take  up  again  and  again." 

To  his  Mother. 

"  London.     Oct.  19,  '97. 

"...  You  heard  all  about  the  wedding. ^  I  scarcely 
saw  it.     I  was  in  a  dream  all  the  time.     I  seemed  to  be 

1  Of  his  daughter  Maud  (Mrs  T.  W.  Kolleston). 


532    LETTERS  TO  VARIOUS  CORRESPONDENTS 

somewhere  far  away  in  an  impalpable  world,  and  to  be 
vaguely  conscious  there  that  somewhere  else  I  was 
attending  a  wedding.  I  saw  nothing.  I  did  not  see  the 
decorations,  I  had  no  perception  of  how  the  bridesmaids 
were  dressed  or  how  they  looked.  I  spoke  to  a  great 
number  of  people  but  none  of  them  seemed  real.  ...  Of 
what  took  place  at  the  house,  I  have  no  recollection.  I 
know  I  talked  to  a  number  of  persons,  but  I  myself  was 
not  there,  but  in  another  land.  I  am  told  the  wedding 
went  off  well.  One  gets  apart  and  more  apart  from  this 
world.  We  only  move  in  the  shadows  of  substances 
which  we  shall  know  hereafter,  and  I  have  ceased  to 
trouble  about  shadows.  I  walk  in  a  vain  show — that  is 
true — but  I  have  ceased  to  disquiet  myself  in  vain.  ... 

"I  preach  at  Brighton  next  Sunday.  There  I  shall 
call  on  Lady  Castletown  and  Burne  Jones.  I  preached 
last  there  thirty  years  ago,  and  in  Trinity  Chapel, 
Robertson's  Church.     So  gallops  our  life  away." 

To  Mrs  T.  W.  Rolleston. 

"  Loudon.    Oct.  19,  '97. 

" .  .  .  Of  course  I  ought  to  have  written  before  this, 
but  the  worry  of  losing  you,  and  the  hurry  of  taking  up 
new  work  immedately  after  your  departure,  made  me  so 
ill  that  after  my  Sunday's  discourse  at  Manchester,  I 
was  quite  incapable  for  three  days,  and  then  I  had  three 
sermons  to  prepare  and  to  preach,  and  the  second  one 
was  more  disturbing  than  the  first.  At  Leeds  I  had  not 
a  moment  to  myself.  .  .  .  Such  a  social  world  for  one 
who  lives  in  his  shell  like  an  ascetic  snail.  I  believe  the 
thing  has  been  a  success  so  far,  but  I  don't  think  it  has 
elements  of  continuance.  .  .  .  Individualities  are  over- 
strong  in  the  Unitarian  body.  Each  fights  and  lives 
only  for  his  own  hand.  They  have  no  real  bond  of 
union,  except  in  their  name,  and  many  of  them  think 
the  name  limits  them.  There  are  those  among  them 
who  do  inot  like  this,  but  naturally  those  who  do  [like  it] 
make  most  row,  and  claim  the  most,  and  individualise  the 
whole  body.     They  are  like  the  Socialists  and  the  Irish 


MEMORIES  OF   BOYHOOD  583 

National  Party.  They  agree  to  differ.  They  ought  to 
differ  to  agree.  I  hked  two  of  the  Ministers  I  met  very 
much,  Mr  Dowson  and  Mr  Hargrove,  and  they  were 
very  gracious  to  me.  ... 

"I  was  a  week  in  Manchester.  Full  and  roaring 
streets,  bad  shops,  ugly  types  of  men  and  women, 
twenty  omnibuses  in  a  row  passing  by,  the  horses' 
heads  touching  the  doorsteps  of  their  predecessors,  ten, 
twelve,  any  number  of  drays  and  waggons  screaming 
one  after  another  over  stone-paved  roads.  The  yell  of 
the  traffic  smote  the  firmament,  and  seemed  to  rock  the 
huge  warehouses  which  formed  and  darkened  the  streets. 
Leeds  was  much  better,  but  then  when  I  was  there,  it 
was  fine  and  bright.  Whenever  I  have  seen  it  before,  it 
was  like  an  antechamber  to  hell. 

"  The  house  is  lonely  without  you.  I  expect  you  to 
come  in  every  minute.  But  you  are  happy,  and  all 
is  well." 

To  Mrs  T.  IF.  Rolleston. 

"  London.    November  i,  '97. 

"...  I  saw  Lady  Castletown  at  Brighton  and  Aimee 
Wingfield.^  Lady  Castletown  is  very  old  now,  sunk  in  on 
herself,  but  her  eyes  lit  in  the  old  fashion,  and  the  soul 
of  her  was  alive.  How  much,  how  much,  seeing  her 
after  so  many  years  brought  back  to  me !  A  thousand, 
thousand  recollections  of  youth  and  manhood  and  now 
of  age.  She  is  one  of  the  few  alive  now  at  whose  sight 
I  see  my  life  as  a  whole,  and  not  as  usual  in  parts  M'hich 
have  nothing  to  do  with  one  another.  And  there  was 
Aimee,  with  whom  I  have  ridden  as  a  girl,  her  hair 
streaming  on  the  wind,  myself  hatless,  over  the  wild  hills 
and  bogs  of  Lisduff,  when  I  was  16." 

To  William  Brooke. 
.  "  London,     November  8,  '97. 

"...  In  every  Chapel  without  exception,  the  con- 
gregations have  been  full  to  the  doors  and  many  have 
'  The  Hon.  Mrs  Wingfield,  daughter  of  Lady  Castletown. 


534    LETTERS  TO  VARIOUS  CORRESPONDENTS 

been  turned  away.  Of  course  at  Brighton  the  Chapel  was 
full.  People  there  remember  Robertson's  Life.  At 
Richmond  there  was  no  standing  room.  I  did  not  think 
that  Leicester  knew  anything  about  me,  but  the  Chapel 
was  twice  crowded.  Next  Sunday  I  preach  at  Hampstead, 
then  twice  at  Liverpool,  then  at  Bristol,  then  Norwich 
and  Nottingham.  I  find  it  very  amusing.  The  journeys 
do  not  tire  me ;  I  am  glad  to  get  out  of  London  for  a 
little.  I  like  seeing  new  folk,  and  the  different  types  of 
ministers  and  of  people — and  I  generally  dine  out  some- 
where— entertain  and  please  me.  Then  I  am  glad  to 
know  that  I  am  liked,  and  glad  also  to  have  some  of  my 
old  work  to  do.  I  have  the  sincerest  liking  for  Mr  Gow, 
the  minister  at  Leicester,  one  of  the  men  who  are  trying 
for  the  restoration  to  the  Unitarians  of  a  more  spiritual 
religion." 

To  his  sister,  Angel  Brooke. 

"  London.    January  2,  '98. 

"...  My  year  has  had  no  sorrow ;  but  it  has  had  no 
special  delight.  But  that  is  natural  to  old  age  ;  and  peace 
then  is  perhaps  best.  That  which  I  enjoyed  most  was 
my  pilgrim  passage  to  the  West  of  Ireland.  It  has  left 
an  indelible  impression  on  me.  .  .  . 

"  Miss  Rossetti's  religious  poems  are,  I  think,  the  most 
beautiful  in  the  English  tongue.  Sometimes  they  are 
too  '  Quietist '  for  me,  sometimes  too  much  tinged  with 
Methodistic  High  Churchism,  that  curious  mixture,  but 
they  have  profound  feeling  and  soft-acting  imagination, 
very  vital  and  instructive,  and  Love  is  first  in  them." 

To  his  daufihter  Honor. 

"  Glasgow.    February  15,  '98. 

"...  I  lectured  on  Thursday  last;  I  preached  on 
Sunday,  and  I  lectured  again  last  night,  that  is,  on 
Monday.  Great  crowds  accompanied  your  Father.  The 
lecture  hall  was  full ;  the  platform  crowded  with  parsons, 
professors,  and  what  they  call  here — '  men  of  note.'  Dr 
Hunter  made  a  very  cordial  speech  about  me,  which, 


EXPERIENCES  IN   GLASGOW  535 

though  it  praised,  was  not  splashed  on.  On  the  contrary, 
I  liked  it,  and  thought  it  well  done.  All  these  speeches 
about  me,  and  there  have  been  many  of  them,  seem  to 
be,  as  I  listen  to  them,  delivered  about  another  man.  I 
catch  myself  wondering  who  it  is  they  praise  so  much: 
They  speak  of  the  past,  and  I  have  but  little  care  for  the 
past  and  seem  to  have  no  bonds  to  it.  What  I  have 
done  or  said  there  has  dropt  out  of  my  life.  Very  few 
people,  I  believe,  have  so  naturally  obeyed  that  saying  of 
Christ's — let  the  dead  bury  their  dead.  I  wish  I  could 
say  that  I  had  obeyed  as  well  the  last  part  of  His  saying. 
I  lectured  for  an  hour  and  forty  minutes  !  It  is  an  awful 
sin  to  look  back  on,  but  it  cannot  now  be  helped.  .  .  . 
My  sermon  went  fairly  well,  and  my  lecture  last  night 
was  really  successful.  The  Glasgow  people  are  interesting, 
eager,  alive,  full  of  pleasure— each  man — in  other  things 
than  his  own  business.  In  no  place  have  I  come  across  so 
keen  a  body  of  men.  Then,  they  have  been  excessively 
kind  to  me.  All  parties  have  been  good  to  me — Bishops, 
Moderators,  United  Presbyterians,  Independents,  all  sects, 
even  the  most  orthodox,  gathered  about  the  platforms.  I 
declare  I  felt  as  if  1  had  been  recognized  by  the  Churches. 
It  was  a  curious  thing,  and  I  don't  know  what  to  put  it 
down  to.  Sir  James  Marwick,  Town  Clerk,  gave  a  big 
dinner  for  me.  The  interest  of  it  was  in  the  men  I  met, 
twenty  or  so  of  them.  Here,  it  is  the  subject  they  talk  of 
which  they  think  of,  and  which  makes  their  eyes  glitter. 
I  never  saw  a  finer  set  of  eyes.  They  flashed  all  round 
the  table  like  gems." 

To  Mrs  T.  W.  Rolleston. 

"  Torquay.    November  8,  '98. 

"...  I  read  with  great  interest  the  report  of  the 
meeting  of  the  Gaelic  League.  To  ask  that  all  the 
people  should  be  taught  Irish  and  speak  it  is  asking  what 
is,  as  things  are  now,  impossible.  It  will  never  be  done, 
but  to  ask  that  a  league  of  scholars  should  be  formed, 
with  or  without  Celtic  Chairs  in  the  University,  which 
should  study  the  language,  translate  into  English  all  its 

VOL.  II.  N 


536    LETTEES  TO  VARIOUS  COREESPONDENTS 

literature,  write  on  its  matters,  and  train  scholars  to 
carry  on  its  work,  sending  every  one  of  the  young  men 
down  to  places  where  Irish  is  still  spoken  to  learn  it  as 
it  is,  and  to  keep  it  up  where  it  is,  and  then  to  compare  it 
with  the  older  forms,  and  to  recover  all  that  is  left  of  its 
traditions,  that  is  possible  and  practical,  and  Irishmen 
ought  to  do  it.  What  little  of  it  has  been  done  has 
already  had  a  widespread  influence,  far  more  than  one 
would  have  expected.  And  I  would  not  bother  this  work 
by  dwelling  too  much  on  nationality.  When  the  work  is 
done,  it  will  help  enormously  the  national  movement,  but 
I  would  be  wise  enough  to  keep  that  in  the  background 
at  present." 

To  the  Rev.  Ambrose  Blatchford} 

"  London.    New  Year's  Day.     1898. 

"...  Your  kind  and  gracious  letter  gave  me  the 
keenest  pleasure,  and  I  am  very  grateful  to  you  for 
what  you  have  said  about  me,  even  though  it  is  so  much 
more  than  I  deserve  or  ever  have  deserved.  But  since 
you  feel  it,  I  will  think  no  more  whether  I  have  deserved 
it  or  not,  and  give  myself  up  to  the  pleasure  of  your  good 
thoughts  about  myself.  And  much  happiness  they  have 
bestowed  on  me  at  this  beginning  of  the  Year.  I  trust 
the  year  may  fill  your  life  with  just  happiness,  and  your 
heart  with  the  blessing  and  the  love  of  God  our  dear 
Father  and  our  nearest  strength. 

"  Yes,  the  longer  I  live,  the  more  I  feel  that  loyalty  to 
Jesus  Christ,  who  has  made  us  know  what  loyalty  to  His 
Father  is,  is  our  safety  and  our  power  and  our  Joyfulness 
in  this  troubled  and  desponding  world.  We  need  have 
no  fear  to  love  Him  well,  for  He  leads  us  beyond  Himself 
to  the  Father  who  is  greater  than  He,  and  He  leads  us 
with  Himself  into  union  and  brotherhood  with  all  man- 
kind. Our  strength  is  to  go  in  and  out  among  men  as 
He  did,  and  if  we  are  depressed  at  times,  it  is  depression 
which  He  knew,  and  with  greater  reason  for  it  than  any 

'  Then  minister  of  Lewin's  Mead  Chapel,  Bristol,  where  Brooke 
had  preached. 


EFFECT   OF   AN   ANAESTHETIC  537 

of  us  have  ever  had.  Yet  it  never  chilled  His  faithfulness 
to  the  ideas  His  Father  had  given  Him,  any  more  than 
the  desertion  of  friends  and  the  cruelty  of  enemies  chilled 
His  victorious  love  of  man." 


To  the  Rev.  Ambrose  Blatchford. 

"London.    Jan.  2, '99. 

"^  .  .  Yes,  I  hope  the  New  Century  may  be  more 
joyous  and  eager  than  the  last  years  of  this  century 
have  been.  A  lessening  of  high  faiths  and  a  pre- 
dominance of  intellectual  analysis  have  not  made  the 
world  happier  or  better.  Where  God  is  not.  Mammon 
squatters  in,  like  a  toad ;  and  Society  worships  the  dirty 
beast." 

To  his  daughter  Honor. 

"  Cardifi.    Jan.  8,  '99. 

"...  How  curious  you  should  say  that  about  laugh- 
ing gas !  That  also  was  my  experience.  And  it  was 
more  than  the  mere  pleasure  of  losing  consciousness  and 
the  ease  of  it.  It  was  that  I  was  transferred  into  so 
intense  a  life,  so  full  of  movement,  interest,  creation  and 
joy  of  living  and  of  work  which  was,  but  did  not  seem 
work,  that  I  regretted  my  return.  You  know  that  though 
the  door  shuts  quickly  as  you  come  back,  yet  that  for  a 
moment,  before  this  world  clashes  out  of  you  where  you 
have  been,  there  is  a  dim  recollection  of  what  you  have 
been  and  done,  which  though  it  is  instantly  slapped  out 
of  3^our  hands,  leaves  its  impression  behind.  I  jumped 
up,  and  said,  quite  excited,  to  the  two  astonished  men — 
'  Now  I  knoic  why  we  never  see  or  are  conscious  of  the 
dead,  why  they  never  let  us  know  anything  about  them. 
The  life  beyond  is  too  full  of  joy  and  life,  too  quick  and 
too  full  for  them  ever  to  dream  of  going  back  to  earth. 
It  cannot  be.'  And  I  marched  up  and  down  the  room 
saying  a  great  deal  which  I  have  forgotten.  They  stared 
and  did  not  say  a  word." 


538     LETTERS  TO  VARIOUS  CORRESPONDENTS 


To  Mrs  Crackanthorpe. 

"  London.     Feb.  1,  '99. 

"  You  shall  have  an  answer.  I  said  there  were  some 
who  finding  Browning's  work  difficult  to  unravel  set  to 
work  to  unravel  it,  and  having  accomplished  this  not 
difficult  business,  said  to  themselves  how  clever  we  are, 
and  how  much  we  enjoy  poetry,  but  their  real  enjoyment 
is  their  own  intellectual  exercise ;  and  there  are  persons 
who  when  you  try  them  with  a  piece  of  Browning's 
poetry  of  the  finest  quality  see  nothing  in  it. 

"  But  I  never  said  that  all  persons  who  loved  Brown- 
ing's work  were  of  this  type,  and  of  that  you  implicitly 
accuse  me;  and  especially  when  you  defend  yourself 
from  the  accusation.  I  might  as  well  accuse  myself  as 
you. 

"  Then  you  say  you  love  him  best  for  certain  reasons, 
freedom  from  this  or  that,  and  you  hint  that  I  do  not 
praise  him  for  these  reasons  and  extol,  on  the  contrary, 
Tennyson. 

"  But  these  are  the  very  things  I  do  praise  him  for, 
and  in  which  I  say  he  was  superior  to  Tennyson. 

"  To  take  what  I  have  said  and  use  it  against  me,  as 
if  I  had  not  said  it — What  do  you  call  that  ? 

"As  to  calling  him  a  'thinker,'  I  never  did  it.  I 
called  him  a  Poet,  who  is  as  much  above  a  thinker  as 
a  man  is  above  an  oyster.  Thinkers  bore  me ;  for  they 
are  so  fond  of  thinking  that  they  think ;  and  the  Thinker 
alone  is  nowhere  and  no  good  in  the  Universe.  He  just 
suits  this  little  scrap  of  a  planet  with  all  its  half  existences 
struggling,  while  they  are  here,  towards  life.  In  the  large 
Universe,  he  is  a  poor  thing.  As  to  Browning  not  lasting, 
of  course  he  will  last,  and  last  as  long  as  any  other  of 
the  great  creatures  who  have  wrought  righteousness  in 
their  art,  stopped  the  mouths  of  lions,  turned  to  flight 
the  armies  of  the  aliens.  What  I  saM  was,  that  as  poet, 
he  was  not  so  sure  of  the  first  place  in  the  future  as 
Tennyson. 

"  And  as  to  selections  not  being  made  from  him,  I 


THE   LIFE   OF   PARNELL  539 

beg,  Madam,  to  remark  that  selections  from  him  have 
already  appeared,  and  that  the  first  of  them  was  made 
by  Browning  himself,  and  not  well  done  either." 

To  Mr  Barry  O'Brien. 
t 

"  London.     May  28,  '99. 

".  .  .  I  have  just  finished  your  Life  of  Parnell, 
which  I  took  away  with  me  to  read.  I  never  read  so 
good  a  biography.  It  is  most  admirably  written.  It 
makes  the  man  alive.  It  excites,  disturbs,  and  pleases. 
It  will  do  great  good  to  the  cause  you  have  at  heart.  It 
does  not  at  any  point  whittle  away  your  principles,  but  it 
is  honestly  cordial  to  adversaries.  In  spite  of  Parnell's 
reticence,  one  sees  his  soul  through  your  book.  Oh ! 
how  I  despise  those  folk  who  threw  him  to  the  wolves, 
though  as  I  have  often  said  to  you,  the  best  thing  he 
could  have  done  would  have  been  to  lie  low  for  six 
months,  smiling,  while  the  rest  messed  everything,  and 
then  emerged  with  conquest  and  order  in  his  hands." 

To  Mr  A.  P.  Graves. 

"  Edinburgh.     November  27,  '99. 

"...  I  should  like  to  have  put  in  an  appearance, 
but  I  could  not.  I  have  been  somewhat  troubled  at  not 
as  President  [of  the  Irish  Literary  Society]  doing  my 
duty  by  appearing  at  the  lectures,  etc.  My  difiiculty  is 
that  going  about  the  country  to  preach  I  am  always 
out  of  London  on  Saturday,  and  I  do  not  see  how  I  can 
appear  at  all  except  you  have  meetings  in  June  and 
July.    In  those  months  I  shall  be  in  London  on  Saturday. 

"  I  was  not  at  all  annoyed  by  the  speech  you  mention 
— what  is  the  speaker's  name — but  I  was  somewhat  dis- 
mayed by  his  ignorance  of  the  subject  on  which  he 
spoke.  Even  Mrs  Bryant,  having  her  theory  about  the 
Celt's  incapacity  for  organisation  and  business,  never 
thought  of  Lord  Duff'erin  and  G.  Dufly,  and  the  other 
Irish  Proconsuls,  nor  of  Tammany  Hall  and  the  Irish- 
Americans  in  almost  every  city  of  the  States." 


540    LETTERS  TO  VARIOUS  CORRESPONDENTS 
To  Mrs  T.  W.  Rolkston. 

"Boss.     April  13,  1900. 

"...  I  am  bored  by  these  Browning  Lectures,  not 
so  much  by  the  lectures  themselves  as  by  the  programme 
of  them  which  I  am  forced  to  cling  to.  I  can't  change, 
and  things  grow  on  my  hands,  and  the  limits  worry  me. 
I  read  the  third  book  of  Sordello  yesterday,  and  I  declare 
that  Browning  has  no  more  right  to  express  himself  so 
very  badly  than  a  painter  has  to  throw  sponges  full  of 
different  colours  at  his  canvas  and  say  that  he  is  making 
a  picture.  If  the  thoughts  Browning  can't  shape,  but 
which  one  detects,  were  of  immense  value,  it  would  be 
different — if  one  can  ever  pardon  thoroughly  bad  form — 
but  they  are  not ;  they  are  the  natural  gushings  of  youth 
on  love  and  humanity  and  the  soul,  and  Will  and  Beauty, 
and  not  much  more,  save  here  and  there  a  sudden  flash 
as  of  the  lightning  of  genius.  But  when  these  come, 
they  are  clear.  His  obscurity  is  really  impudent  care- 
lessness in  Sordello.  Yet  I  am  really  fond  of  the  poem. 
It  is  a  big  thing  in  its  way." 

To  Mrs  T.  W.  Rolleston. 

"  S.  Wales.    July,  1900. 

"  A  thousand,  thousand  blessings  fall  upon  you,  and 
I  am  sure  you  deserve  them  all.  The  world  is  much  the 
better  for  your  birthday,  and  so  am  I.  May  sunlight 
enchant  every  glen  and  mountain  top  for  you,  and  every 
stream  sing  welcome  in  your  ear.  I'm  glad  you  like  the 
ring,  and  if  you  ever  want  new  turquoise  in  it,  order  them 
and  send  the  bill  to  me. 

"  The  wind  is  howling  and  the  rain  falling.  Every 
leaf  is  dripping,  and  the  waters  are  eminently  disagree- 
able in  these  conditions.  Yesterday  was  a  broiling  day, 
and  the  flies,  whose  energies  are  lashed  into  fury  with 
the  heat,  were  heathenish.  Professor  Bradley  is  here,  and 
I  like  him,  and  I  have  made  acquaintance  with  Heberden, 
the  Principal  of  Brasenose.     That  is  the  whole  of  my 


DYING   IN   HARNESS  541 

companions.  .  .  .  Noncon.  ministers  haunt  the  place,  and 
sometimes  circle  round  me  at  a  distance  like  vultures 
round  a  dying  man.  Sometimes  one  or  another  takes 
the  plunge,  but  they  are  not  talkative." 


To  his  daughter,  Mrs  L.  P.  Jacks. 

"  London.     Nov.  15,  1901. 

"...  I  have  finished  my  lectures  on  Matthew  Arnold, 
and  I  hear  they  have  caused  much  discussion.  All  the 
folk  who  have  fallen  back  out  of  Christianity  on  Epictetus 
and  Marcus  Aurelius  are  angry  with  me.  However,  I 
amused  them  last  night  by  picturing  how  very  much 
distressed  Matthew  Arnold  would  have  been  if  he  had 
been  really  put  back  into  the  Athens  he  was  so  fond  of. 
I  sketched  him  criticizing  x^schylus  and  Euripides,  and 
only  living  with  Sophocles,  calling  Alcibiades  his  typical 
'  Barbarian,'  and  hating  Cleon  and  his  lot  as  much  as 
he  hated  the  Nonconformists.  How  uncomfortable  he 
would  have  been,  how  he  would  have  wished  himself 
back  in  the  Athenaeum  Club  !  " 

I'o  Mrs  Craekaiithorpe. 

"London.     Dec.  31,  1901. 

"  Oh  no !  I  did  not  mean  resignation.  That's  not 
the  way  out.  Nor  do  I  ever  want  any  one  to  get  out  of 
sorrow,  if  sorrow  does  not  injure  Love.  And  when  it 
does  not  injure,  but  help  Love,  it  changes  its  first  foliage 
which  is  of  Autumn  to  the  foliage  of  Spring.  So  you 
can  have  it  ever  (jrecn. 

"As  to  dying  in  harness,  certainly,  if  the  harness  is 
comfortable,  and  only  put  on  when  one  desires  it.  But 
to  die  like  a  post-horse  in  a  tarantass,  no  thank  you. 
I'm  sick  of  being  too  much  in  harness,  and  I  have  no 
ambition  to  die  working.  Green  said,  *  I  die  learning.' 
I  say,  I  shall  die  un-learning,  and  'pon  my  life,  it's  the 
wiser  of  the  two  sayings.     Dio  sia  con  voi  anyway." 


542    LETTERS  TO  VARIOUS  CORRESPONDENTS 
To  Mrs  Crackanthorpe. 

"  London.     Nov.  13,  1902. 

"  It  is  iniquitous  that  I  have  not  yet  written  to  you 
to  thank  you  for  your  letter,  but  I  have  been  so  busy 
that  I  have  never  got  out  of  the  house  for  more  than 
half  an  hour  when  the  darkness  fell.  I  find  that  lectur- 
ing and  preaching  every  week  gives  me  more  to  do  than 
I  can  well  do.  My  age  rebels.  I  shall  be  70  years  old 
to-morrow  ;  wish  me  good  luck  and  gaiety  and  the  power 
of  loving  for  the  rest  of  my  days,  and  a  death  which  will 
give  no  bother  to  any  one. 

"  i'm  so  glad  you  like  the  first  20  pages  of  that  book.^ 
This  happy  prejudice  will  enable  you  to  stand  the  many 
pages  with  which  you  will  disagree.  You  only,  of  all  the 
people  who  have  spoken  to  me  about  it,  have  recognized 
how  much  of  myself  is  in  the  book,  and  that  its  interest 
to  me  is  there,  and  less  in  that  which  I  have  said  about 
Browning ;  and  it  was  balm  to  my  soul  that  some  one 
had  seen  that.  I've  read  only  3  Reviews,  and  they  were 
praise,  but  very  dull.  I  hear  the  AthetKeum  has  been 
spiteful,  but  Lord  !  the  Athenmim  / 

"Well,  there  are  the  other  two  things  you  say.  I 
don't  think  I  am  capable  of  writing  any  book  on  the 
drama  of  human  life,  save  what  I  say  in  sermons.  I 
have  no  invention. 

"  And  as  to  seeing  more  folk,  I  dare  say  you  are  quite 
right.  Indeed,  I  have  often  felt  it ;  but  1  don't  care  for 
men,  and  what  one  touches  in  women  is  not  to  be  talked 
of.  I  used  to  see  a  great  deal  of  the  world,  a  host  of 
folk,  but  I  got  tired,  and  other  things  that  I  went  through 
isolated  me,  and  now  I  find  the  social  roads  very  dusty 
and  wearying.  I  always  desire  the  wild  moors,  and 
solitude  is  my  meat  and  drink.  There  is  a  pompous, 
high-pitched  sentence  for  you.  Only,  I  am  never  morose, 
and  life  amuses  me. 

"  With  this  opening  out  of  myself  like  a  fan,  I'll  bid 
you  good-bye." 

'  His  Browning. 


GRIEF   AND  FAITH  543 

To  Mrs  B. 

"  London.     January  4,  '03. 

"...  I  was  very  sorry  to  hear  of  your  husband's 
death.  I  remember  him  very  well,  and  the  strong  im- 
pression he  made  upon  me. 

"  How  can  1  give  you  proof  of  another  life  ?  Such 
proof  as  this  materialized  age  needs  for  conviction  is  not 
afforded  to  us.  We  are  thrown  by  God  on  faith,  and  on 
whatever  evidence  our  own  life  and  the  instincts  of  our 
soul  have  laid  before  us.  Nothing  from  without  con- 
vinces us,  only  from  within  do  hope  and  desire  pass  into 
belief.  And  much  of  that  depends  upon  ourselves.  If, 
having  lost  on  earth  our  nearest  and  dearest,  we  give 
up  ourselves  wholly  to  sorrow,  and  cease  in  our  pain  and 
regret  to  live  for  others,  and  to  strive  to  bring  happiness 
and  peace  into  the  lives  of  those  who  need  our  help, 
using  our  sorrow  as  a  means  of  loving  and  of  increased 
sympathy,  and  live  entirely  in  our  pain,  the  faith  in  a 
future  life  will  fade  away  day  by  day,  and  perhaps  be 
lost.  It  cannot  live  and  breathe  in  the  atmosphere  of 
selfish  grief.  I  am  very  far  from  saying  that  your  grief 
is  selfish.  That  would  be  cruel  and  unjust,  for  I  do  not 
know  how  you  are  bearing  it,  but  it  is  well  to  face  the 
possibility  of  such  a  grief  as  yours  locking  you  up  in 
yourself ;  and  that  would  be  not  only  wrong,  but  a  bitter 
pain  to  your  husband,  who,  seeing  you  lost  in  his  memory, 
would  in  that  larger  world  be  troubled  by  the  thought 
that  in  regretful  love  for  him  you  forgot  to  give  your- 
self away  to  others.  Every  grief  has  to  face  this  trial — 
and  to  overcome  it. 

"  I  believe  firmly  in  a  world  to  come,  where  your 
husband  now  abides  and  rejoices  in  God,  and  where  life 
is  full  and  deep.  And  I  believe  that  he  knows  of  your 
life,  and  wonders  that  you  are  so  overwhelmed  with  grief 
when  he  is  radiant  with  happiness.  Give  yourself  to 
helping  others,  any  one,  and  the  more  the  better,  and 
your  soul  will  put  off  its  blackness,  and  a  deep  sense  of 
union  with  hinjn  come  into  it  in  time.  You  will  feel  he  is 
with  you,  and  is  approving  of  all  you  do.    As  to  his  work 


544    LETTERS  TO  VARIOUS  CORRESPONDENTS 

being  cut  short,  he  is  at  work  now  with  tenfold  energy 
and  on  matters  of  tenfold  greater  importance  than  he 
had  to  deal  with  here.  God  does  not  permit  any  intelli- 
gence or  power  to  be  lost  or  silenced  in  His  universe. 
Let  us  live  worthy  of  the  dead,  rather  of  the  living,  and 
we  shall  bind  ourselves  up  with  their  eternal  joy.  May 
God  keep,  comfort,  and  strengthen  you." 

To  Miss  K.  Warren. 

'•  Dumfries.    August  16,  1903. 

"...  You  see  1  have  left  Ireland,  where  I  was 
drenched  every  day,  but  enjoyed  myself  as  I  always  do 
in  my  own  land,  where  all  things  and  the  temper  of  the 
world  around  me  are  in  harmony  with  me — a  thing  1 
rarely  feel  in  England.  There  is  precious  little  of  the 
Englishman  in  me.  Even  the  Home  Rulers  in  England 
seem  to  me  foreigners.  They  know  nothing  of  the  Irish 
nature  or  character,  and  make  the  most  curious  mistakes. 

"  The  King  did  fairly  well,  and  Wyndham  wrote  his 
speeches  with  intelligence,  but  neither  of  them  recognized 
the  position.  No  one  cares  a  button  about  the  King  as 
King  in  Ireland,  except  the  Protestant  Ascendancy  party, 
and  even  they  laugh  in  their  sleeve  at  fine  words  which 
are  butter  without  bread." 

To  Frank  W.  Dalley. 

"  London.     January  7,  1905. 

"...  I  think  that,  as  a  beginning,  you  had  better 
read  a  few  books  which  will  open  out  vistas  of  knowledge 
to  you,  and  when  you  have  finished  them,  you  will  better 
be  able  to  decide  what  path  your  chief  reading  will  take. 
I  do  not  give  you  advanced  books. 

"  You  ought  to  know  the  history  of  your  own  nation. 
Read  Green's  Short  History  of  the  English  People. 

"  Get  Huxley's  Physiography.  It  will  tell  you  about 
the  earth  on  which  you  live;  and  Ball's  Story  of  the 
Heavens. 

"  Take  Carlyle's  Essays,  4  volumes ;  every  free  library 
has  them.     They  are  very  stimulating,  especially  those 


ADVICE   TO  A    YOUNG   READER         545 

on  German  Literature.  One  volume  "will  last  you  a  long 
time.  Then  Macaulay'  s  Essays  on  historical  subjects. 
"Clive,"  "  Warren  Hastings,"  "Pitt,"  etc.,  etc.,  are  good 
to  awaken  interest  in  history.  As  to  literature  and  art, 
any  library  will  have  Ruskin's  Modern  Painters.  It  is  a 
huge  book,  but  it  is  good  to  read ;  and  you  can  take  a  year 
or  two  to  get  through  it  carefully.  And  for  a  short  book 
of  his  read  Unto  this  Last. 

"  As  to  poetry.  Get  the  Golden  Treasury,  by  F.  Pal- 
grave.  It  will  give  you  all  the  best  lyrics  in  the  English 
language.  When  you  have  studied  them,  you  will  want 
to  read  all  the  greater  poets.  Meantime,  take  with  you 
on  all  occasions  a  volume  of  Shelley,  or  Wordsworth,  or 
Tennyson. 

"  Yes,  you  ought  to  know  the  heroic  legends  of 
Greece.  The  Iliad  and  Odyssey  of  Homer  have  both 
been  well  translated  by  A.  Lang,  Butcher,  and  Leaf. 
When  you  have  read  these  you  will  w'ant  to  know  more 
of  Greek  literature.  There  are  heaps  of  books  on  the 
Greek  stories,  by  Hawthorne,  Church,  etc.,  etc. 

"If  you  want  pleasant,  literary,  amusing  reading, 
read  the  Arabian  Nights,  Malory's  Morte  d' Arthur, 
Morris's  Earthly  Paradise,  the  Book  of  Genesis  in  the 
Bible. 

"  These  are  chiefly  literary.  If  you  want  political 
philosophy,  read  Burke's  Select  Works,  published  cheaply 
by  the  Clarendon  Press. 

"  But  whatever  you  read,  read  carefully,  with  a  deter- 
mination to  get  to  the  bottom  of  what  you  read,  and  to 
remember  it.  Mere  reading,  by  itself,  is  waste  of  time. 
Master  what  you  read.  And  when  you  have  gone  through 
these  books,  or  as  many  as  you  like  to  go  through,  you 
will  probably  have  found  the  chief  interest,  so  far  as 
reading  is  concerned,  of  your  Life." 

To  Mrs  L.  P.  Jacks. 

"  Perugia.     May  20, 1906. 

"...  I  really  hated  Rome.  Its  long  history,  its 
immense  associations,  were  not  enough  to  free  me  from 


546    LETTERS  TO  VARIOUS  CORRESPONDENTS 

the  heavy  weight  and  misery  of  its  ugHness,  and  of  the 
greater  ugHness  of  the  spirit  that  filled  its  modern  work. 
Rome  seems  to  have  [kept  ?]  nothing  from  its  past.  The 
Pride  of  life  which  was  its  curse,  and  produced  its  dreadful 
buildings,  seems  to  be  at  its  heart  still,  without  the  power 
to  express  itself  in  as  colossal  a  form  as  it  did  of  old. 
There  is  as  much  of  the  Pride  of  life,  but  it  is  now  hand 
in  hand  with  weakness.  I  can't  tell  you  how  revolting 
this  is  to  me.  Then  the  Archaeologists  have  laid  bare  all 
the  poor  ruins  which  once  were  splendid  in  marble  and 
gold,  and  are  now  shapeless  masses  of  concrete  and  brick, 
most  hideous.  It  was  like  stripping  a  miserable  old 
woman  and  laying  her  naked  on  the  public  way  for  every 
passer-by  to  mock  at.  People  go  into  ecstasies  over  the 
bases  of  columns,  and  bits  of  poor  mosaic,  and  huge 
vaults  and  cellars,  substructures  only.  No  associations 
can  stand  this  exposure.  And  the  associations  are  nearly 
all  Imperial,  bound  up,  with  a  few  exceptions,  with  loath- 
some records  of  some  of  the  meanest  and  vilest  of  the 
human  race.  I  was  sickened  by  it  all.  I  couldn't  even 
go  to  see  the  noble  things,  lest  I  should  lose,  haunted  by 
this  misery,  the  impression  they  had  made  on  me  of  old. 
I  preferred  to  keep  it  unstained.  However,  I  kept  all 
this  to  myself,  at  least  the  intensity  of  it." 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

THE    MYTH    OF    THE    THREE    SPRINGS 

1898-1908 

"  Why  talk  of  Nature  in  terms  of  morality?  She  has  nothing  to 
do  with  conscience,  though  my  friend  Wordsworth  tried  to  think  she 
had.  The  Greeks  were  more  intelligent  about  her.  .  .  .  They  invented 
a  human  or  semi-human  world  out  of  Nature,  which  had  no  morality, 
from  which  right  conduct  was  not  demanded,  which  acted  only  on  the 
impulse  of  the  moment,  the  unmoral  world  of  the  lower  deities  of  the 
winds,  waters,  mountains,  seas  and  woods,  and  they  lived  with  that 
world  whenever  it  pleased  them.  ...  I  think  the  only  modern  artist 
who  has  partly  done  that  is  Keats." — (Diary,  December  7,  1898.) 

"  I  like  to  sleep  with  the  sound  of  the  ocean  in  my  ears,  and  to 
think  that  the  waters  whose  gentle  noise  I  listen  to  have  come  across 
3000  miles  to  visit  me  with  their  affection.  Their  afEection  is  given  to 
them  by  me,  but  why  not  ?  Who  knows  what  spirit  life  is  in  great 
Nature  from  Him  whose  Idea  she  is,  and  whose  thought  continually 
makes,  supports  and  moves  the  universe?  And  to  give  love  to  this 
spiritual  creature  is  to  make  it  mine,  as  it  is  His." — (Diary',  Sep- 
tember 6,  1902.) 

In  a  letter  to  his  sister  Honor  written  on  Easter  Day, 
1896,  Brooke  thus  describes  the  Renaissance  painter, 
Botticelli : — 

"  His  two-fold  nature,  one  of  mystic  religion,  the 
other  of  mystic  paganism  (and  in  a  few  pictures  both 
were  mingled)  attracts  also  two  sets  of  persons.  For 
my  part  his  religious  pictures  give  me  but  little  pleasure. 
My  interest  in  them  is  to  detect  the  faint  pagan  savour, 
the  subtle  modifications  of  the  religious  by  the  pagan 
ideal.     His  pictures  of  the   Renaissance  paganism  do 


548    THE   MYTH   OF   THE   THREE    SPRINGS 

delight  me  profoundly.  .  .  .  These  [things]  are  quaint 
puzzles.  .  .  ." 

Though  this  passage  cannot  be  applied  without 
reservations  to  Brooke  himself,  it  indicates  a  feature 
of  his  character  which  is  profoundly  interesting,  but 
difficult  to  reproduce.  This  also  is  "  a  quaint  puzzle." 
On  the  one  hand,  it  is  essentially  true  that  Brooke 
walked  in  the  realm  of  Christian  Mysticism ;  on  the 
other,  that  his  mysticism  often  took  a  distinctly  pagan 
colour.  In  this  he  was  strongly  linked  to  the  early 
Renaissance,  as  we  may  clearly  see  from  a  study  of  the 
volume  of  Poems  published  in  1888.  The  modern  mind 
feels  a  difficulty  in  understanding  the  combination. 
But  Brooke  achieved  the  combination  so  completely 
that  Christian  and  pagan  mysticism  actually  reinforced 
one  another. 

A  diary  written  at  Homburg  in  July,  1901,  contains 
the  following  entry  : — 

"I  sat  by  the  lake  and  read  Goethe.  I  came  across 
M.  Arnold's  favourite  passage 

"  '  Uns  vom  Halben  zu  entwohnen 
Und  im  Ganzen,  Guten,  Schonen 
Resolut  zu  leben  ; ' 

and  much  amused  was  I  to  find  (because  M.  Arnold 
uses  it  only  as  an  invitation  to  a  high  moral  life)  that 
life  *  im  Ganzen,'  etc.,  includes  not  only  strenuous  action 
towards  the  good  and  the  whole,  but  also  these  things 

"  '  Den  Philistern  allzumal 
Wohlgemuth  zu  schiiippen, 
Jenen  Perlenschaum  des  Weins 
Nicht  nur  flach  zu  nippen, 
Nicht  zu  liebeln  leis  mit  Augeii 
Sondern  fest  uns  anzusaugen 
An  geliebte  Lippen.' 

I  wonder  if  Matt,  included  the  last  two.  He  certainly 
did  the  first." 


NATURE   AND   SELF-CONSCIOUSNESS     549 
Another  entry  of  the  same  month  runs  thus  : — 

"I  sat  in  the  Kurgarten  which  at  this  hour  is 
deserted.  .  .  .  The  trees  are  tall  and  overshadowing 
the  orchestra.  To  look  up  through  them  to  the  sky  is 
to  look  through  one  world  to  another.  I  fancy  every 
leaf  has  its  own  thoughts,  passions  and  life,  and,  like 
ourselves,  is  the  sport  of  circumstances,  yet,  through 
all  its  circumstances,  keeps  its  own  personal  being 
clear.  But  what  they  have  of  great  happiness  when 
the  soft  west  wind  blows  through  them,  and  what  of 
sorrow  when  the  storm  searches  their  weakness  and 
slays  them,  is  just  what  we  have  in  the  mighty  changes 
which  from  without  play  on  us,  as  persons,  as  nations, 
as  the  whole  of  mankind.  Yet  we  keep  our  personality 
and  develop  it ;  and  what  we  are  is  the  resultant  of  two 
forces,  of  the  will  of  the  Universe  and  our  own  Will. 
So  I  thought  as  I  sat  in  the  silence  looking  up  through 
the  glamour  of  the  leaves." 

In  the  diary  of  the  following  year  the  same  thought 
is  more  profoundly  seized. 

"I  sat  on  the  balcony  after  dinner  hearing  the 
plangent  wave,  and  the  peace  of  Nature's  Order  abated 
my  disquietude.  She  does  not  know  she  brings  us  so 
much  good.  If  she  knew  that  her  knowledge  might 
spoil  her  work.  She,  at  least,  whatever  the  poets  say, 
has  no  self-consciousness.  Could  I  then  have  ceased 
to  feel  myself,  to  argue,  to  turn  over  thought  within, 
I  should  have  her  miglity  calm,  or  as  much  of  it  as 
befits  a  man,  who  rmist  think  and  feel  or  cease  to  be 
human.  One  right  way  of  losing  self-consideration  is 
to  feel  so  intensely  about  things  outside  oneself  as  to  be 
lost  in  admiration,  joy  and  worship.  Too  far,  too  far 
away  is  that,  but  it  will  come.  Not  now,  not  here  on 
earth,  save  in  fleeting  prophecy.  For  we  could  not 
bear  now  that  rapture,  nor  could  we  express  it,  but  we 
can  desire  it  through  the  Love  that  moves  the  stars." 
[January  11,  1902.] 


550    THE   MYTH  OF   THE   THREE   SPRINGS 

A  hundred  such  passages  might  easily  be  collected. 
They  suggest  that  behind  the  Christian  culture  of 
Brooke,  and  deeply  interwoven  with  it,  there  was  a 
strain  of  the  primitive  animism,  the  source  of  myth, 
which  gives  to  each  object  of  Nature  an  appropriate 
spirit  and  an  individual  life.  That  he  took  these  in- 
sights seriously  is  obvious  enough.  '*  The  spirit  in  the 
pathless  woods  "  was  to  him  no  metaphor  or  fancy  but 
a  real  presence.  This  no  doubt  may  be  set  down  as 
the  "work  of  imagination,"  and  would  probably  have 
been  so  described  by  Brooke  himself,  but  without  in 
the  least  impairing  his  faith  in  the  reality  of  these 
spiritual  companionships.  "  la  not  imagination,"  he 
would  have  said,  "the  chief  pathway  to  reality?" 
Compare  the  following  with  the  passages  quoted  above: — 

"  I  bought  a  picture  of  Inchbold's  of  Tintagel  and 
I  burn  to  see  the  place.  I  have  seen  it — once  in  a  glow 
of  colour,  once  again  in  a  south-west  gale,  driving  mist 
and  roaring  waves.  It  was  best  in  the  latter  weather, 
and  I  saw  Uther  and  Gorlois  fighting,  and  Ygerne  on 
the  battlements,  her  long  hair  streaming,  and  heard 
her  shriek  when  Gorlois  fell.  .  .  .  This  was  a  trick  of 
the  mist,  you  will  say.  No,  it  was  not !  "  [To  Mrs 
Crackanthorpe,  1888.] 

"  I  went  to  Viareggio  to  see  the  place  whefe 
Shelley's  body  was  burned.  ...  I  saw  the  ghost  of 
Shelley  flitting  by  in  a  drift  of  mist,  and  his  eyes  were 
soft  and  burning.  *  I  am  now,'  he  cried,  '  a  creature 
of  earth  and  water  and  the  nursling  of  the  sky.'  *  Alas,' 
I  said,  '  why  ?  But  perhaps  that  is  best.'  *  Yes,  that 
is  best,'  he  said,  and  the  thin  fleece  in  which  he  was 
melted  in  the  sun."     [To  the  same.] 

Whether  these  were  visions  of  real  beings  or  persons 
I  must  leave  to  those  whose  business  it  is  to  discuss 
such  questions.  But  they  were  certainly  real  visions, 
which,  when  seen,  had  the  value  of  objective  reality  to 


THE   POWER  OF   THE   STREAM  551 

him  who  saw  them.  They  were  not  **  tricks  of  the 
mist,"  nor  were  they  mere  modes  of  poetic  description. 
It  is  essential  that  this  should  be  borne  in  mind  if  we 
are  to  understand  what  follows. 

Of  all  experiences  which  quickened  the  imagination 
of  Brooke,  or  enabled  him  to  apprehend  directly  the  life 
that  is  in  nature,  the  sight  or  sound  of  running  waters 
was  always  the  chief.  I  do  not  profess  to  know  why 
this  rather  than  any  other  of  Nature's  forms  had  the 
power  to  awaken  the  deepest  vein  of  his  mysticism. 
But  the  fact  is  >  nquestionable  that  from  boyhood  to 
extreme  old  age  the  presence  of  running  water  had 
upon  him  the  virtue  of  a  spell.  The  cataract  haunted 
him  like  a  passion ;  and  not  the  cataract  only,  but  the 
stream,  the  spring,  the  fountain,  even  the  falling  rain. 
It  is  scarcely  an  exaggeration  to  say  that  he  understood 
the  language  of  the  waters  as  Eastern  magicians  are 
said  to  understand  the  language  of  birds.  He  wanted 
no  better  companion  than  the  running  stream,  and  I 
doubt  if  he  had  anymore  intimate.  "  They  talked  to 
me  very  pleasantly,"  is  a  sentence  that  often  occurs  in 
his  notes  of  these  experiences.  Whenever  in  letters  or 
diaries  he  sighs  for  escape  from  the  hateful  gloom  of 
London,  and  pictures  the  life  he  desires  to  live,  he 
always  places  himself  in  imagination  among  fountains 
and  springs ;  and  when  he  fled  to  the  country  his  first 
walk  was  invariably  to  the  banks  of  the  nearest  stream 
where  he  would  sit  alone  for  hours,  "  doing  nothing, 
thinking  of  nothing,"  but  living  his  life  to  the  very  full. 
At  these  times  he  lost  all  consciousness  of  himself  and 
became  a  pure  elemental,  sharing  a  common  existence 
with  elves,  fairies,  naiads,  sprites,  or  whatever  name 
may  be  given  to  the  presence  which  moves  upon  the 
waters  or  within  them.     One  of  the  last  acts  of  his  life 

VOL.  II.  0 


552    THE   MYTH  OF   THE   THREE   SPRINGS 

was  to  build  a  fountain  in  his  garden,  which  he  would 
visit  every  day,  leaning  on  his  stick  by  the  side  of  the 
basin,  happiest  of  all  when  the  sun  shone  through  the 
glittering  drops,  but  quite  content  if  he  could  only 
listen  to  their  splash. 

The  following  passages  are  from  the  diary  of  '89. 
They  were  written  in  the  English  Lake  country. 

"  The  valley  [Langdale]  was  gracious  and  green, 
and  the  river  went  gaily  by.  .  .  .  Past  pretty  groves 
and  level  fields  full  of  flowers  I  came  at  last  to  the 
spur  and  crossed  over  the  rocks  to  the  pony  track  that 
goes  up  Langdale  Strath.  It  was  a  desolate  valley. 
For  miles  I  did  not  see  a  single  figure,  not  even  a  single 
animal.  The  sound  of  streams  was  everywhere,  and 
no  other  sound  except  at  times  a  curious  crying  far  up 
the  mountain,  like  that  of  a  woman  weeping  bitterly. 
I  sat  down  under  a  great  dropped  crag,  which  had  been 
splintered  by  the  lightning  and  the  frost,  and  it  seemed 
to  me  as  if  the  whole  world  were  mist  and  dream,  and 
nothing  more.  The  solid  mountains,  rocks  and  hills 
were  as  insubstantial  as  a  ghost,  and  I  alone  was  real. 
Life  did  not  seem  a  dream,  though  the  earth  was 
one.  ...  At  last  an  imaginative  fear  came  on  that  I 
should  be  left  alone,  floating  in  the  Nothing,  with  only 
the  sound  of  streams  remaining,  while  the  streams  were 
gone." 

"  I  went  up  Greenhead  Ghyll.  .  .  .  Below  ran  the 
brook,  blue  with  breaks  of  foam,  and  over  the  silent 
path  the  trees  arched,  an  echoing  vault  of  green.  The 
Ghyll  grew  darker  as  I  climbed,  and  I  got  to  the  Fold 
at  5.  Then  in  a  silence  like  Death,  for  the  brook  is  an 
actual  part  of  the  life  of  the  Ghyll,  and  no  more  a 
noise  than  the  beating  of  the  heart  in  a  man,  I  felt 
what  I  have  not  rarely  felt,  the  sense  that  there  is  no 
humanity  at  all,^  and  that  there  has  never  been  such  a 
thing." 

•  He  means,  I  take  it,  that  just  as  the  brook  was  the  heart-beat  of 
his  vision,  so  humanity  was  no  independent  thing,  but  a  heart-beat  in 
the  life  of  Nature. 


WATER  THE   GREAT   ARTIST  553 

The  diary  of  '99  is  rich  in  allusions  to  the  same 
experience.  That  year  he  was  again  at  his  beloved 
Grasmere. 

"  The  streams  are  the  only  happy  things.  On  the 
dirtiest  day  they  are  clean  and  clear,  running  swiftly 
as  if  they  were  full  of  joy,  not  my  joy  but  their  own. 
I  would  love  to  have  their  life.  They  have  no  dark 
dreams,  nor  see,  beyond  the  apparent,  those  abysses 
where  the  clouds  rise  and  fall  in  the  '  vast  Abrupt.' 
There's  no  companion  like  a  quick  stream,  full,  but  not 
too  full,  capable  of  shallows  and  water-breaks,  with 
deep  pools  when  it  likes,  and  with  a  thousand  shadows 
acquainted  with  all  the  tales  of  the  hills,  and  playing 
with  colours  like  Tintoret.  It  talks  incessantly,  ...  it 
laughs,  but  at  what  it  knows  not,  it  glides  into  every 
corner  of  its  bed,  and  it  has  been  in  all  the  clouds  and 
in  a  thousand  nooks  of  the  mountains.  There's  nothing 
hid  from  the  waters  of  it.  With  it  one  is  always  in 
company  of  the  unknown.  And  that  is  a  divine  com- 
panionship infinitely  pleasant." 

"Running  water  surely  is  the  dearest  and  best-bred 
thing  in  the  world.  And  a  great  workman,  and  a  great 
artist.  Its  labour  has  made  the  surface  of  the  earth, 
and  its  care  has  made  all  its  beauty.  The  great 
Architect,  and  the  great  Sculptor,  and  the  great  Gardener. 
Nor  is  there  any  Singer,  any  Poet,  any  Companion  so 
near  and  dear  as  it  is  when  it  shapes  itself  into  a 
mountain  stream  in  a  quiet  country.  I  would  I  had 
a  house  with  one  running  close  by  the  wall  in  a  pleasant 
garden,  to  whose  sweet  sound  I  might  night  after  night 
fall  asleep,  and  in  hearing  of  whose  prayer  and  praise 
I  might  awake.  I  shall  never  have  it,  but  it  is  well 
to  dream  thereof,  and  better  still  to  have  it  always 
before  the  soul  as  an  impossible  hope.  To  hope  for  the 
impossible  is  the  secret  of  a  happy  life." 

From  1896  to  1911  Brooke  went  regularly  every 
year  to  Homburg,  and  these  visits  are  closely  connected 
with  what  follows.     He  looked  forward  to  them  without 


554     THE   MYTH   OF   THE   THREE   SPRINGS 

pleasure,  for  the  place  had  few  attractions  for  him, 
and  the  people  who  frequented  it  none.  Here  is  one 
of  his  many  descriptions  of  these  people  from  the  diary 
of  1901. 

"  Some  terrible  beings  in  terrible  dresses  startled 
me,  creatures  of  another  world,  such  as  Ibsen  writes 
about,  and  who  form  the  staple  of  his  characters,  folk 
I  have  never  met  nor  would  meet.  Who  would  touch 
even  with  a  fishing-rod,  ten  yards  long,  the  woman  in 
a  '  Doll's  House,'  or  the  Doctor,  or  the  husband  ?  Or 
any  folk  in  the  '  Wild  Duck '  or  *  Hedda  Gabler '  or 
'  The  Master-Builder,'  or  any  of  them  anywhere  ?  .  .  . 
They  are  humanity  with  rickets  and  scrofula,  and  those 
characters  in  the  Dramas  who  can  pretend  to  health  are 
the  result  within  of  vulgarity  handed  on  through  at 
least  six  generations,  and  deprived  of  the  original  strong 
brutality  which  was  its  only  redeeming  feature.  One 
sees  numbers  of  this  type  at  the  Wells,  and  their  dress 
is  their  flag."     [June  20,  1901.] 

"  The  only  thing  which  induces  me  to  take  this  dose 
is  the  thought,  which  my  imagination  plays  with,  that 
Mother  Earth,  through  many  centuries,  and  deep  down 
below  her  surface,  has  taken  so  much  pains  to  arrange 
the  elements  and  perfect  the  development  of  these 
waters.  She,  ever  young,  has  made  them  for  all  her 
children,  and  as  much  for  the  beasts  as  for  man.  And 
the  beasts  are  better  looking,  and  more  noble  in  their 
air,  than  the  heavy-bellied,  red-faced,  yellow-skinned 
creatures  that  gather  here  morning  after  morning  to 
get  relief  from  the  diseases  their  folly,  luxury,  swilling 
and  gluttony  have  produced.  The  cross  between  the 
German  Jew  and  the  German  Christian  is  an  awful 
sight.  There  are  many  of  them  about,  larding  the 
earth.  Huge  plutocrats  appeared,  with  peaked  beards 
and  puffy  faces,  money-hogs,  rolling  and  grubbing  at 
home  on  dunghills  of  cash."     [July  26,  1898.] 

"Drove  to  the  Saalburg.  ...  I  sat  down  in  the 
Roman  Camp  and  tried  to  think  myself  a  Roman 
soldier   waiting    for    his   sweetheart.     But   I    couldn't 


"THE   GATES   OF   PEARL"  555 

manage  it.  I  dislike  the  Romans  too  completely.  .  .  . 
The  drive  home  was  fairly  beautiful,  through  woods  and 
wild  ground  ;  but  the  ineffable  commonplace  of  vain 
struggle  after  a  loveliness  which  has  never  been  con- 
ceived is  over  all  this  [part  of  the]  country.  The  land 
has  no  imagination."     [Aug.  10,  1898.] 

At  all  times  Brooke  was  hypersensitive  to  the  in- 
fluence of  his  surroundings.  In  the  midst  of  scenery 
which  appealed  to  his  sense  of  beauty,  or  among  people 
who  challenged  his  intelligence  or  his  affections,  he 
would  react  with  the  full  force  of  his  nature  and  enjoy 
himself  to  the  top  of  his  bent.  Under  contrary  con- 
ditions he  suffered  real  physical  distress  ;  uninteresting 
scenery  or  dismal  weather  was  like  a  weight  upon  his 
body,  and  if  compelled  to  spend  an  evening  with  cold- 
hearted  or  stupid  people  he  would  go  to  bed  with  his 
nerves  all  ajar  and  would  probably  be  ill  next  day. 
Life,  indeed,  would  have  been  at  times  intolerable  to 
him  had  he  not  possessed  an  unfailing  refuge  in  the 
realm  of  imagination — the  realm  "  whose  gates  are 
pearl."  Thither  he  would  retire  whenever  his  actual 
surroundings  failed  to  give  him  the  stimulus  for  which 
he  craved,  creating  an  ideal  world  for  himself,  filling 
it  with  forms  of  beauty,  and  with  personalities  after  his 
own  heart.  These  beings  were  as  real  to  him  as  the 
men  and  women  whom  he  met  at  the  dinner-table  or  in 
the  streets — "  more  real,"  he  often  said.  Imaginative 
children  have  the  same  habit. 

What  then  would  he  do  with  himself  in  a  place  like 
Homburg,  compelled  to  daily  inaction  and  to  the  odious 
monotony  of  a  "cure,"  and  surrounded  by  types  of 
humanity  which  made  him  shudder  ?  Any  one  who 
knew  him  might  have  predicted  the  answer.  He  would 
contrive  a  myth  and  set  his  own  life  in  the  midst  of  it ; 


556    THE   MYTH  OF   THE   THREE    SPRINGS 

or  he  would  call  up  spirits  from  the  vasty  deep,  and 
would  laugh  and  play  and  converse  with  these  brilliant 
creatures  of  his  imagination,  as  though  they  were  his 
visible  companions,  as  who  can  say  they  were  not  ? 
And  this  is  what  he  actually  did. 

The  prediction  might  have  been  made  yet  more  pre- 
cise. For  Homburg,  as  everybody  knows,  is  a  place  of 
wells,  whose  waters,  cunningly  elaborated  by  Nature, 
spring  forth  from  the  deep  recesses  of  the  earth.  Here 
was  something  that  was  certain  to  stir  the  imagination 
of  Brooke,  something  that  would  remind  him  of  the 
elemental  essences  of  life. 

There  were  three  of  these  wells  with  which  Brooke 
had  to  do — the  Elizabeth-Brunnen,  the  Stahl-Brunnen, 
and  the  Louisa-Brunnen.  We  have  already  seen  how 
in  1898  his  imagination  had  begun  to  play  with  the 
thought  **  that  Mother  Earth,  through  many  centuries, 
and  deep  down  below  the  surface,  had  taken  so  much 
pains  to  arrange  the  elements  and  to  perfect  the  de- 
velopment of  these  waters."  A  few  days  after  this  entry 
a  curious  drama  begins  to  unfold  in  the  diary,  and  goes 
on  page  after  page,  day  after  day.  Three  water-sprites, 
the  genii  of  the  wells,  make  their  appearance.  At  first 
it  seems  as  though  his  imagination,  as  he  said,  were 
merely  at  "  play,"  but  as  the  matter  develops  it  becomes 
clear  that  what  is  described  is  accepted  by  Brooke  as 
having  actually  taken  place.  He  sees  these  beings  in 
bodily  form,  meets  them  in  the  woods,  converses  with 
them  as  primitive  man  conversed  with  his  gods. 

In  the  earlier  stages  of  the  myth  the  three  water- 
sprites  are  at  variance,  contending  among  themselves 
as  to  which  of  the  three  shall  be  the  "  familiar "  of 
this  strange  mortal — "so  unlike  to  every  other  man 
who  has  come  to  visit  them   through  the  centuries." 


"LOUISA"  557 

Gradually  the  first  two  retire,  beaten  off  the  field  by 
the  audacity  of  the  third — the  genius  of  Louisa-Brunnen 
— who  has  perennial  youth.  She  is  a  pure  elemental, 
without  soul,  without  conscience,  without  heart ;  nothing 
but  intelligence  and  passion,  **  like  Nature  herself." 

Many  and  deep  are  the  colloquies  between  Brooke 
and  this  wayward,  unpredictable  being.  They  are  fully 
recorded  in  his  diaries,  and  occur  at  intervals  for  no 
less  than  ten  years.  Not  all  take  place  at  Homburg ; 
some  of  the  most  interesting  are  in  the  study  at 
Manchester  Square.  In  themselves  many  of  them  are 
things  of  no  importance,  the  mere  joyous  interplay  of 
two  natures  to  whom  the  conventions  of  society  and 
the  masks  of  culture  mean  nothing  at  all,  and  whose 
intercourse  is  on  the  level  at  which  we  may  imagine 
the  flowers  or  the  birds  to  converse  with  one  another. 

All  the  passages  in  the  Diary  which  refer  to  this 
matter  were  evidently  written  at  high  speed,  and  some 
of  them  show  signs  of  having  been  subsequently  cor- 
rected. Brooke  would  sometimes  read  the  dialogues 
aloud  to  his  daughters,  and  it  was  probably  then  that 
he  corrected  them. 

"What  does  it  all  mean?"  the  reader  will  ask. 
The  answer  is  not  easy.  That  it  is  a  spontaneous  ex- 
pression, and  entirely  natural  to  Brooke's  character, 
indeed  essential  to  it,  there  is  not  a  doubt.  We  may 
say,  if  we  will,  that  "  Louisa "  of  the  myth  is  the 
projection  of  a  part  of  himself ;  but  I  am  afraid  that 
such  words  do  not  mean  very  much.  This,  however, 
is  certain,  that  Brooke  was  unlike  that  large  majority  of 
modern  men,  to  whom  their  own  nature  as  thinking 
beings  stands  out  in  essential  contrast  with  that  of  the 
unthinking  world  of  physical  objects.  He  had  a  closer 
kinship  with  the   ancient  seer  to  whom  the   "  spirit  " 


658    THE  MYTH  OF   THE   THREE   SPRINGS 

and  the  *'wind"  were  two  names  for  the  same  thing. 
At  times  he  seemed  to  live  in  the  morning  of  the  race. 
Retaining  much  of  the  primitive  consciousness,  which 
antedates  all  human  speculation,  he  was  unaware  at 
these  times  of  any  line  of  division  between  himself  and 
Nature,  and  was  able  to  meet  her  on  her  own  level. 
We  must  not  be  surprised,  therefore,  to  find  him  here 
speaking  a  language  which  is  not  that  of  the  nineteenth 
or  the  twentieth  century,  but  of  an  age  far  remote  from 
the  present,  when  the  winds  and  the  waters,  the  plants 
and  the  animals  were  almost  a  part  of  human  society — 
the  age  in  which  myths  had  their  origin. 

Here  is  a  description  of  his  state  of  mind  while 
taking  the  "mud-bath  "  which  was  a  part  of  his  cure  : — 

"I  lay  in  the  deep  sludge,  thick  and  slab,  like  a 
huge  Lias  lizard  in  the  primordial  slime,  rolling  to  and 
fro,  and  laughing  and  watching  for  my  prey.  Then  I 
fancied  I  was  the  original  mass  of  protoplasm  out  of 
which  all  animal  creatures  grew,  which  lay  formless  at 
the  bottom  of  the  monstrous  ocean.  Then  I  made 
myself  a  hippopotamus  in  an  African  swamp  and  heard 
far  away  the  roaring  of  lions.  ...  I  love  a  mud-bath. 
One  lies  wrapt  round,  embraced  at  every  point,  by 
Mother  Earth.  She  enters  into  every  pore,  into  every 
vein.  How  comforting  she  is !  Earthly  mothers  are 
good,  but  Mother  Earth,  the  mother  of  all  mothers,  is 
the  best  of  all,  closer  than  any  one  to  my  being,  not  to 
my  affections  or  intellect  or  spirit,  but  to  the  honest 
matter  of  which  I  am  made." 

How  these  survivals  from  a  distant  past — if  such 
they  be — are  to  be  explained,  is  a  conundrum  that  must 
be  left  to  the  psychologists.  I  can  only  say  that  there 
is  no  psychological  formula  known  to  me,  no  theory 
of  the  constructive  or  any  other  sort  of  imagination, 
which  throws  one  gleam  of  light  even  on  the  fringe 


THE   SILENGS   OF   SOUND  559 

of  it.    For  the  rest  the  reader  must  be  content  with  a 
few  extracts. 

"  I  do  not  think  that  [she]  is  more  than  150  years 
old.  .  .  .  Her  [quaUties]  belong  to  many  diverse  nations. 
.  .  .  She  sat  with  me  a  long  time  under  an  acacia  tree. 
It  rained,  but  these  ladies  of  the  springs  are  distantly 
related  to  the  rain  and  they  enjoy  it."    [Homburg  1901.] 

"I  find  London  dull.  ...  In  this  heavy  thirsty  air 
I  must  regret  the  deep  shades  where  I  walked  with  her, 
the  bubbling  upwards  of  the  clear  spring  with  its  music 
which  had  crept  into  her  voice  and  the  birds  which  sang 
so  sweetly  on  her  shoulder.  This  ponderous  air  drives 
me  to  these  recollections." 

"  The  whole  time  I  was  away  [at  Homburg]  I  took 
no  thought  of  time  any  more  than  if  I  was  in  the  forest 
with  Rosalind,  where  if  the  climate  were  better  I  wish  I 
was  at  this  moment.  .  .  .  How  Touchstone  would  laugh 
at  me.  Even  Audrey  would  mock.  ...  So  I  shall  image 
it  only  and  enjoy  that  a  thousand  times  more  than  the 
reality.  The  world  of  imagination  is  the  only  world 
worth  living  in.  There  the  sun  always  shines,  and  one 
is  always  young,  and  love  has  no  apathy  or  ennui,  and 
joy  no  stealing  shadows,  and  there  is  no  winter,  and  the 
streams  are  always  clear  and  so  is  the  heart."  [London, 
1901.] 

**  I  like  sometimes  the  Kur-garten  in  the  middle  of 
the  day.  I  went  there  with  S.  to  hear  some  music. 
And  the  sun  was  shining  and  the  trees  rustling  and  the 
birds  were  amusing  themselves  on  the  green  sward. 
Life  was  flowing  everywhere  with  the  searching  sound 
that  is  almost  silence,  and  which  not  many  folk  in  the 
world  can  hear,  so  full  and  deep  and  soft  it  is.  I  hear 
it,  but  it  needed  years  of  learning  and  humility.  Goethe 
heard  it  when  he  was  quite  young.  .  .  .  Then  the  sound 
is  gloriously  gay  as  well  as  unfathomably  deep.  And 
out  of  it  leaped  poems  of  joy — 

"  '  Wie  herilich  leuchtet 
Mil-  die  Natur  I ' 


560    THE   MYTH  OF   THE   THREE   SPRINGS 

[She]  tells  me  she  knew  Goethe — lucky  child  !  "  [Horn- 
burg,  1902.] 

"  I  told  the  whole  story  [of  the  English  visitors 
who  play  all  Sunday  at  *  putting '  on  the  Homburg 
golf-course]  to  L.  *  Oh,  the  fools  ! '  she  said,  '  the  very 
chaffinches  laugh  at  them.  Even  those  grave  and 
reverend  seigniors,  the  thrushes  and  the  blackbirds,  tell 
me  that  the  worms  they  eat  as  they  are  swallowed  are 
laughing  at  the  English.  It's  a  mercy  you  are  not 
English — I  could  not  associate  with  you.'  'Don't,'  I 
said,  *  don't  speak  of  it.'  "     [Homburg,  1902.] 

"No  physician  knows,  like  me,  the  cause  of  these 
apparent  vagaries  among  the  wells,  [He  then  describes 
a  recent  disturbance  in  the  properties  of  the  Elizabeth- 
Brunnen.]  The  doctors  are  not  admitted  into  the 
emotional  economy  of  the  lives  of  these  indwellers  of 
the  waters.  And  I  dare  not  tell  them.  .  .  .  The  doctors 
don't  know  what  to  do.  The  laws  of  nature  seem,  they 
think,  to  be  abrogated  ;  and  all  the  small  scientists  are 
wild  with  petty  excitement.  I  could  tell  them  in  two 
words  what  is  the  matter — but  I  refrain."  [Homburg, 
1902.] 

"  L.  was  sitting  under  an  oak  with  a  gray  hood  and 
a  watery  film  drawn  over  her  head  like  a  cowl.  *  Go 
away,'  she  said.  ...  *  I  never  knew,'  I  said,  '  any  one 
so  happily  untrue  to  fact,  so  true  to  your  own  nature. 
But  then  you  have  no  soul !  '  '  That  is  what  I  was 
thinking  of  when  you  came,'  said  she.  *  It  made  me 
reflective  and  I  put  on  a  cowl  of  gray  water.  Did  it 
become  me?  x\nd  when  you  have  rightly  answered 
that,  tell  me  about  the  soul.'  '  I  will  not,'  I  said  ;  '  let 
yourself  alone.  If  you  are  ever  to  have  it,  you  will 
have  it.' " 

"  '  Alas,'  she  said,  'I  have  no  soul — a  creature  only 
of  the  earth  and  water,  and  all  the  soul  I  have  is  given 
me  by  those  who  look  into  my  eyes.'  '  There  are  many 
women  on  the  earth,'  I  said,  '  who  have  that  kind  of 
soul  and  none  other — things  out  of  nature.  ...  I  don't 
like  the  immoral,  but  I'm  enchanted  with  the  unmoral 
— and  a  more  quick-witted  example  of  it  [than  you] 


"THE   GREAT  WATER"  561 

cannot  be  found  ; '  .  .  .  and  we  walked  among  the  corn 
fields  where  in  the  yellow  corn  the  blue  flowers  are,  and 
where  the  wind  played  till  they  flew  from  the  eye  into 
waves  of  gold  and  green." 

"Both  yesterday  and  to-day  I  spent  some  hours 
wandering  with  L.  through  many  wonderful  places  and 
palaces  underneath  the  surface  of  the  Earth,  where  all 
the  Wells  have  birth.  .  .  .  '  Here,'  I  said,  '  I  seem  to 
lose  my  human  heart.'  "     [Homburg,  1902.] 

"  *  Do  you  always  do  what  you  want?'  said  L.  to 
me  one  day.  '  I  always  want  what  I  do,'  said  I.  '  If 
you  do  it,  you  don't  want  it,'  said  she.  *  To  do  any- 
thing,' said  I,  'always  reveals  something  more  to  do.' 
*  Then  you  never  cease  wanting,'  answered  she.  *  Never  ! ' 
I  replied.  .  .  .  '  I  suppose,'  she  said,  *  this  is  the  soul 
at  work.  For  my  part  I  don't  understand  you  nor  what 
you  say.'     '  You  do  not,'  I  said."     [Tintagel,  1902.] 

"'As  to  my  gaiety,'  said  I,  'I  was  born  gay.' 
'  Thank  the  Great  Water,'  said  L.  '  Who  is  that  ?  ' 
said  I  ...  *  is  it  your  God  ? '  '  What  you  mean  by 
God  I  don't  know,'  she  said  with  some  gravity,  '  but 
there  is  a  Great  Water  from  whom  we  all  come,  all  the 
springs  and  rivers  and  lakes  of  earth.  .  .  .  We  give 
honour  to  the  Source  of  all.'  '  He  does  not  seem  to 
disturb  your  mirth,'  said  I.  '  Disturb ! '  she  cried. 
'  He  is  the  Cause  of  it ! '  "     [Birmingham,  1902.] 

"  I  wish  women  and  indeed  men,  but  chiefly  women, 
did  not  pass  before  me  like  phantoms.  Did  I  not  believe 
they  were  souls  whose  destiny  is  to  live  for  ever,  and 
whom  God  loves,  I  should  never  feel  they  were  real 
things  at  all  when  I  meet  them  in  society.  *  What  are 
you  dreaming  of  ? '  L.  said  to  me  one  day  when  we  were 
sitting  under  the  four  poplars  in  the  golf  ground.  *  You 
look  as  if  you  were  in  space.  Those  burly  English  boys 
and  girls  who  passed  by  just  now,  you  seemed  to  see 
through  them  as  if  they  were  ghosts.'  *  Dear  nymph,' 
said  I,  *  they  are  phantoms.  But  you  are  not  of 
this  world  and  you  are  no  vision.' ''  .  .  .  [London, 
1902.] 

' '  The  true  West  is  the  dearest  of  all  [the  winds]  in 


562    THE   MYTH  OF   THE   THREE   SPRINGS 

England.  It  is  Psyche's  bearer — the  wind  of  the  soul, 
and  it  always  brings  divine  weather  with  it,  brings  the 
soul  to  love.  Soft  are  its  azure  skies,  snow-white  its 
sailing  clouds,  and  its  breath  makes  every  flower  lift  its 
head  in  gratitude,  every  leaf  alive  with  joy,  all  the  birds 
desire  to  love,  and  me  recover  youth.  L.  loved  it.  '  I 
was  born,'  she  said,  *  when  it  was  blowing,  and  when- 
ever it  blows  it  is  my  birthday.'  .  .  .  And  she  danced 
in  and  with  the  wind,  till  whether  she  was  the  wind 
spirit,  or  the  wind  L.,  no  tongue  could  tell."  [East- 
bourne, 1903.] 

"  I  hope  I  shall  die  in  a  moment.  It  is  the  most 
gentlemanly  way  of  dying.  I  do  not  think  I  fear  death, 
but  I  do  fear  decay.  Death  itself  is  not  much  more 
than  having  a  tooth  out  under  gas.  But  the  long,  dull 
or  painful  approaches  of  death,  they  will,  I  hope,  be 
spared  me.  .  .  .  But  it  is  not  in  my  hands.  Let  it  be 
as  the  Master  wills.  To-day  I  am  tired  and  bored. 
London  has  few  interests  for  me.  I  do  not  care  to  see 
people,  and  my  relations  with  society  are  closing  up 
day  by  day.  I  prefer  my  own  Creation  L.  to  them  all. 
She  is  not  me,  nor  has  any  of  my  character  in  her. 
Since  I  projected  her  from  myself,  she  has  taken  her 
own  individuality,  and  is  as  much  alive  and  actual  as 
I  am  myself.  So  are  the  others,  and  a  very  pleasant 
group  they  are,  full  of  original  thought  and  feeling,  but 
without  one  grain  of  conscience.  Since  I  have  lived  so 
much  with  them,  faint  traces  of  a  soul  have  begun  to 
exist  in  them,  but  of  our  notions  of  reality,  they  have 
none.  They  are  just  like  Greek  Nymphs,  Naiads  and 
Pan  and  his  crew,  and  an  interesting  study  they  are." 
[London,  1903.] 

The  Homburg  diaries  of  1904  and  1905  contain 
hardly  any  references  to  the  matter.  On  the  occasion 
of  both  visits  Brooke  was  in  poor  health  and  his  spirits 
were  low.  "  He  had  not  the  heart  to  summon  the 
sprite,"  and  the  entries  for  those  years  show,  in  conse- 
quence, a  marked  decline  of  the  usual  animation.     In 


LOUISA  AND   THE   WATER-KING         563 

1906,  however,  we  find  him  again  in  the  full  current  of 
the  myth.  The  entries  made  at  Homburg  that  year  are 
mainly  composed  of  long  colloquies  with  his  "  familiar." 
In  the  two  succeeding  years  the  conditions  of  1904  and 
1905  are  repeated,  and  from  that  time  onwards  the 
whole  matter  gradually  passes  from  the  realm  of  imme- 
diate experience  into  that  of  memory. 

The  diary  of  1906  contains  the  following  significant 
passage : — 

"  L.  is  always  forced  on  Sunday  to  go  and  see  the 

Water-God,  as  this  little  heathen  calls  him.  He  was 
her  guardian  when  she  was  young,  or  rather,  newly 
born.  These  Sprites  never  grow  old.  The  Water-King 
is  a  very  stately  and  austere  person.  He  never  unbends 
except  to  L.  Few  of  the  great  rivers  have  ever  seen 
him  smile.  But  to  L.  he  is  mighty  affable,  and  he 
loves  to  see  her  dance.  He  kept  her  late,  and  it  was 
only  at  11  p.m.  that  she  drifted  on  to  my  balcony, 
singing  like  a  mountain  stream,  and  in  a  robe  of  water- 
crystal.  The  Starlight  fell  upon  her,  and  were  it  not 
for  her  smile,  half  malign,  half  tender,  she  would  have 
seemed  too  ethereal  to  please.  *  Oh,'  she  cried,  reading 
my  thoughts,  '  I  am  not  ether  or  vapour.  Do  not  be 
afraid.'  'Not  afraid,'  said  I,  'but  sorry.  I  am  going 
to-morrow,  and  I  think  I  never  left  you  with  so  much 
regret.  The  years  have  only  made  you  more  enchant- 
ing. Every  touch  of  your  beauty  is  instinct  with 
thought.'     '  That's  well  said,'  she  replied." 

I  must  leave  these  extracts  to  tell  their  own  story 
or  to  make  their  own  impression.  The  full  text  of  the 
dialogues  would  fill  a  volume.  My  own  conclusion 
after  repeated  study  of  the  record  is  that  though  many 
details  may  be  correctly  set  down  to  "  the  play  of 
Fancy,"  the  episode  as  a  whole  cannot  be  so  inter- 
preted.    It  represents  a  return  to  the  primitive  worship 


564    THE   MYTH   OF   THE   THREE   SPRINGS 

of  Nature,  in  which  for  the  time  being  the  forms  of 
later  culture  are  forgotten  or  subdued  : 

"  Things  viewed 
By  poets  in  old  time  and  higher  up 
By  the  first  men,  earth's  first  inhabitants." 

Ought  it  not  to  remind  us  that  Christian  mysticism  is 
a  highly  complex  thing,  having  roots  in  a  past  which 
long  antedates  the  birth  of  Christianity  ?  Brooke  at  all 
events  was  aware  of  no  discrepancy  with  the  rest  of  his 
experience.  Let  us  remember  also  that  he  was  a  rebel 
in  every  fibre  of  his  being  against  the  materialism,  the 
covetousness,  the  sophistry  of  his  age.  As  he  watched 
the  crowds  that  gathered  round  the  Homburg  Wells, 
he  felt  his  utter  aloofness  from  the  civilization  of  which 
these  people  reminded  him ;  and  when  Science,^  repre- 
sented by  a  pompous  doctor,  expounded  the  properties 
of  the  Waters,  he  quietly  laughed  in  his  sleeve.  Under 
these  conditions  he  buried  himself  deep  in  the  world 
whose  glimpses  made  him  "less  forlorn,"  and  where 
indeed  he  could,  when  he  willed,  be  thoroughly  at  home. 

"  Great  God  !     I'd  rather  be 

A  Pagan  suckled  in  a  creed  outworn  ; 
So  might  I,  standing  on  this  pleasant  lea, 

Have  glimpses  that  would  make  me  less  forlorn ; 
Have  sight  of  Proteus  rising  from  the  sea  ; 

And  hear  old  Triton  blow  his  wreathed  horn." 

Lastly,  it  needs  to  be  said  that  this  remarkable 
development  of  nature-mysticism,  though  it  occurred 
late  in  life,  is  in  full  harmony  with  earlier  tendencies, 
of  which,  indeed,  it  may  be  reckoned  the  fulfilment. 
In  a  sermon  of  1867,  which  I  have  already  quoted  as 

1  "Science,"   he  would    often  say,   "is  a  process  of  laboriously 
arriving  at  truths  that  were  well  known  in  faery  land." 


A  PRACTICAL   MYSTIC  565 

giving  the  key  to  his  central  theme  at  that  time,  there 
occur  the  following  passages  : — 

"We  tread  lightly  through  the  forest,  for  we  feel 
there  is  a  spirit  in  the  woods.  '  The  trees  nod  to  us 
and  we  to  them.'  The  sea  sympathizes  with  our 
passion  and  our  calm.  The  brook  over  its  pebbles 
sings  to  us  a  loving  song." 

"Our  childhood  is  all  Greek.  Every  fountain  has 
its  indweller,  every  mountain  is  alive  with  living 
creatures,  every  one  whispers  through  its  leaves  of  a 
living  soul  within,  and  the  breaking  music  of  the  wave 
upon  the  beach  is  the  laughter  of  the  daughters  of  the 
sea." 

"  While  clinging  fast  to  Christianity  as  the  life  of 
the  spirit,  we  should  recover  the  ancient  natural  religion 
which  saw  in  mountains  and  forests,  in  the  changing 
beauty  of  the  heavens  above,  and  in  the  varied  love- 
liness of  the  earth  below,  the  revelation  of  the  move- 
ment and  life  and  beauty  of  the  living  God."  ^ 

One  might  expect  that  a  life  in  which  dreaming 
played  so  large  and  manifold  a  part  would  lose  the 
basis  of  common  sense  in  the  ordinary  relationships  of 
life.  One  might  expect  it  to  be  absent-minded,  in- 
attentive to  detail,  contemptuous  of  the  common-place. 
The  truth  was  the  precise  opposite.  Brooke  saw  that 
all  practical  problems,  whether  of  individuals  or  nations, 
are  reducible  to  human  terms,  to  some  form  of  action 
or  reaction  upon  the  souls  of  men  and  women,  and 
seeing  this — seeing  it  first  and  seeing  it  always — he 
was  sanity  personified.  It  is  true  that  when  problems 
were  put  before  him  as  abstract  propositions  his  talk 
would  often  be  wide  of  the  mark,  but  the  moment  the 
matter  assumed  a  concrete  form,  and  the  question  was 
raised,  "What  is  to   be  done?"  his  perspicacity,  his 

'  Sermons,  first  series,  pp.  114  and  119. 


566     THE   MYTH  OF   THE   THREE   SPRINGS 

directness,  his  common  sense  were  amazing.  In  a 
tangled  situation  he  would  see  the  way  out  in  a  flash. 
There  was  one  class  of  practical  difficulties,  and  that 
perhaps  the  most  perplexing  which  life  has  to  encounter, 
in  which  Brooke  could  give  better  advice  than  I  have 
ever  heard  from  living  man.  I  refer  to  those  which 
involve  a  conflict  of  duties — where  the  choice  lies  not 
between  a  right  and  a  wrong,  but  between  two  rights. 
At  these  points  he  was  entirely  free  from  that 
familiar  type  of  "  intelligent  hesitation "  which  is 
only  another  name  for  sophistry  and  weakness  of 
will.  Swift  and  sure  he  went  to  his  mark.  Thus, 
unlike  other  dreamers  whom  we  have  known,  his  life 
in  the  kingdoms  which  are  not  of  this  world  did  not 
unfit  him  for  action  among  the  things  of  time  and 
sense.  On  the  contrary,  it  yielded  him  a  rule  of 
conduct,  luminous  and  instantly  applied.  He  was  no 
Hamlet. 

One  who  was  his  intimate  friend  during  the  years 
when  his  imagination  was  actively  engaged  in  this  myth 
writes  as  follows  : — 

"One  of  the  things  which  struck  me  again  and 
again  was  the  wonderful  judgment  he  had — the  wisdom 
he  showed  in  all  things  great  and  small.  The  genius 
we  all  knew  and  felt.  But  this  other  side  of  him — the 
wise  counsellor — the  man  who  never  '  made  mistakes,' 
who  was  so  pre-eminently  sane  in  his  outlook  on  life  and 
in  all  life's  decisions  big  and  little — this  combination  of 
gifts  struck  me  again  and  again." 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

EXTRACTS  FROM   THE   DIARY  OF   1904 

London.  January  18.  "  A.S  I  walk  in  the  streets  I 
feel  like  a  living  man  in  the  midst  of  senseless  phantas- 
magoria ;  and  I  dare  say  thousands  feel  the  same.  Yet 
we  go  on  living  in  it  when  all  the  country  is  open  to  us. 
And  I  have  lived  in  this  house  since  1866.  My  duty 
kept  me  here,  but  now  I  have  no  duty,  no  public  duty, 
to  retain  me.  Still,  I  do  not  go.  I  am  afraid  that  in 
the  country  I  should  cease  to  work.  That  is  one  reason  ; 
the  other  is  that  I  do  not  care  for  a  country  life  in  a 
climate  like  that  of  England." 

January  19.  "  This  was  a  famous  evening.  All  my 
daughters  dined  together  after  a  separation  of  many 
years.  .  .  .  We  were  a  merry  and  happy  party.  Every 
one  looked  as  if  life  had  treated  them  well.  Nor  was 
there  any  jar.  Mutual  congratulations  on  their  well- 
preserved  good  looks  were  interchanged  among  the 
women.  And  the  men  poured  compliments  upon  them. 
My  health  was  drunk  as  the  head  of  the  Clan.  I  pro- 
posed our  noble  selves  and  my  grandchildren.  'Twas  a 
pleasant  pariy." 

January  20.  "I  went  with  L.  to  the  International 
where  I  saw  a  few  good  pictures  and  many  dreadful 
things.  Rodin  is  now  its  president,  and  a  number  of 
his  straining  Things  are  there.  I  have  little  admiration 
for  them.  He  wants  to  be  the  French  Michael  Angelo, 
but  he  will  burst  like  the  frog  in  the  Fable  before  he 
gets  there.  Le  Grand  Penseur  ne  pense  pas.  He  is 
a  clever  sculptor,  but  there  he  ends.  Monsieur  Splash- 
Splash  I  call  him." 

VOL.   II.  p 


568    EXTRACTS   FROM   THE   DIARY  OF   1904 

Qlasgoiv.  April  16.  "  Walked  down  to  the  railway 
to  get  the  London  papers,  and  to  find  the  last  news 
about  Admh-al  Togo's  games.  Games  indeed !  700 
souls,  most  of  them  good  and  honest,  and  taken  away 
from  the  daily  work  of  the  world,  blotted  out  in  two 
minutes,  because  Russia  would  not  be  fair  to  the 
Japanese !  And  because  the  scientific  manufacturers 
want  to  make  money.  I  would  forbid,  on  pain  of  death, 
the  invention  and  making  of  annihilating  munitions  of 
war.  As  to  war,  I  suppose  folk  must  fight :  but  it 
should  be  man  to  man  not  machine  to  machine.  Togo 
seems  to  know  his  business.  His  business  is  to  save 
his  men's  lives.  He  knows  that  every  man  is  "  capital  " 
needed  by  his  country.  And  he  destroys  a  thousand  of 
his  enemy  at  a  loss  of  about  50  lives.  I  wonder  what 
the  Jap  leaders  will  do  in  a  land-war,  whether  they  will 
so  manage  affairs  as  to  lose  only  a  few  ?  It  is  plain  that 
at  sea  cunning  and  skill  and  long-thought  can  so  manage 
machines  as  to  inflict  terrible  damage  without  loss." 

Tarhet.  April  22.  "  I  finished  Trevelyan's  book 
which  closes  with  the  surrender  of  Boston.  What  a 
foolish,  selfish,  obstinate,  wicked  politician  George  III 
was !  And  we  forgave  him  everything,  all  his  crimes, 
because  he  was  a  good  domestic  person.  The  poets  saw 
him  more  clearly.  Byron  gibbeted  him,  and  I  remember 
Shelley's  line — 

"  An  old,  mad,  blind,  despised  and  dying  King." 

But  far  worse  than  he  were  his  creatures,  the  ministry 
and  the  place  men.  They  ought,  one  and  all,  to  have 
been  hanged,  and  first  flogged,  if  flogging  is  ever  any 
good.  Yet  Walter  Scott,  whose  Diary  I  have  been  read- 
ing, approved  of  the  King  and  the  Tories,  and  exalted 
George  IV  into  a  little  Deity !  What  is  one  to  make  of 
that?  The  only  thing  is  to  smile,  and  to  tolerate 
Custom." 

Glasgow.  May  12.  "  I  re-read  nearly  all  Newman's 
Apologia.  The  book  is  interesting  indeed.  A  very 
human  document !  The  subjects  treated  of  have  but 
little  interest  for  me.  I  am  outside  of  them,  but  the 
man  is  amazing.     There's  nothing  false  or  underhand 


NEWMAN  569 

about  him.  It  is  plain  he  is  transparently  true.  But 
he  is  vain,  and  he  is  strangely  wanting  in  spirituality. 
Everything  is  settled  by  logic,  and  his  conscience  obeys 
what  he  calls  and  believes  to  be  right,  but  which,  in 
reality,  is  his  logical  conclusion  from  premises  which 
he  assumes.  His  progress  to  Rome  is  the  march  not  of 
faith,  but  of  reasoning ;  and  he  took  his  own  process  of 
thought  to  be  the  driving  of  God.  There  is  nothing 
spiritual  in  his  thinJdng,  though  in  his  own  soul  and  its 
personal  relation  to  God,  he  is  spiritual  enough.  The 
most  important  thing  to  him  was  the  saving  of  his  own 
soul.  After  that,  the  saving  of  others.  This  is  the 
innate  curse  of  all  dogmatic  religions.  True  spirituality 
is  to  be  so  absorbed  in  love  of  God  and  of  man,  as  Jesus 
was,  as  never  to  think  about  one's  self  at  all.  Whoso- 
ever will  first  save  his  own  soul  loses  the  best  part  of 
his  soul." 

May  28.  "  I  sat  next  a  woman  doctor,  who  was 
intelligent  and  is  in  good  practice  here.  How  well  I 
like  an  able,  educated  woman  who  has  her  special  work. 
I  don't  believe  they  are  less  good  mothers  and  wives, 
provided  they  put  motherhood  first,  and  make  their 
profession  bend  to  that.  They  are  saved  from  over- 
maternity,  that  most  unfortunate  tendency  which  ruins 
so  many  households.  The  misfortune  of  women,  in  a 
host  of  matters  as  well  as  in  maternity,  is  a  want  of 
proportion." 

May  29.  "Preached  twice  and  took  the  services. 
Overflowing  congregations,  and  my  last  Sunday  here.  I 
was  not  tired.  There  was  plenty  to  excite  me.  I  hope 
the  sermons  have  done  good,  that  is,  comforted  and 
made  happier  all  the  poor,  troubled,  puzzled  folk  which 
must  be  in  any  large  congregation.  Many  folk  came  in 
to  see  and  thank  me,  and  two  young  men  outside  ran  up 
to  me  with  eagerness  to  ask  God  to  bless  me.  So  did 
others.  I  am  glad  of  this.  The  night  was  cool  and 
cloudy  as  I  walked  back,  and  when  I  thought  of  the 
country  and  Derwentwater  to-morrow  and  silence  and 
beauty,  after  this  city's  roar  and  hustling,  I  rejoiced." 

Derwentwater.    June  6.    "  I  have  done  no  work  since 


570    EXTRACTS  FROM  THE  DIARY  OF   1904 

I  came  here.  I  mean  by  work  no  original  (it  is  too  big 
a  word)  composition.  I  don't  call  reading  histories,  or 
reading  for  materials,  work.  Work  is  only  that  which 
is  spun  out  of  one's  brain,  and  shaped  by  whatever 
imagination  one  possesses,  even  though  that  be  of  small 
power.  The  stream  I  sat  beside  comes  down  from  the 
Lodore  Waterfall.  It  runs  here  placidly,  as  if  it  had  not 
gone  through  a  world  of  trouble.  It  put  me  in  mind  of 
those  old  folk  whose  eyes  and  face  have  grown  full  of  a 
stately  quiet,  because  they  have  wrought  their  way 
through  great  and  devious  sorrows,  storms  and  pains. 
Nothing  can  now  happen  to  them  so  bad  as  that  which 
they  have  borne,  and  were  anything  bad  to  happen,  it 
would  not  seem  severe  to  them  now,  for  the  nerves  of 
the  soul  do  not  feel  so  bitterly  as  once  they  felt.  They 
are  going  on  to  greater  peace  and  a  larger  world,  like  my 
stream  which  in  a  few  minutes  will  enter  the  stillness 
and  vastness  of  the  Lake." 

June  9.  "I've  been  reading  Plutarch's  Lives  again, 
after  a  long  interval,  in  North's  translation  which  is  now 
published  in  tiny  volumes  most  convenient  for  one  who 
reads  in  bed,  and  who  hates,  with  a  concentrated  hatred, 
a  heavy  book.  How  good,  how  very  good  they  are ! 
How  Plutarch  has  enjoyed  writing  them.  With  all  his 
naivete,  and  that  is  great,  how  sensible,  how  agreeably 
philosophic,  how  critical  he  is.  Yet  his  criticism  of 
legends  and  wonders  is  balanced  by  his  taste  for  the 
imaginative  and  the  literary.  He  is  as  wise  as  a  child, 
and  the  childlikeness  in  the  man  is  well  harmonized  by 
the  natural  charm  of  the  quaint  translation.  The  trans- 
lation is  in  tune  with  Plutarch's  character.  I'd  make 
every  national  school  read  his  book.  It  is  heroic  and 
instils  the  heroic  spirit.  It  is  good  to  live  with  all  these 
great  men.  The  best  of  active  Greece  and  Rome  is 
there.  It  is  strange  how  deeply  and  clearly  he  sees  into 
the  greatness  of  the  Roman  character.  The  State  seems 
greater  than  the  men.  In  the  Grecian  lives,  the  men 
seem  greater  than  the  little  States  they  belonged  to." 

June  11.     "  I  rested  by  the  beautiful  stream  in  the 
valley  that  leads  to  Watendlath,  and  makes  the  Waterfall. 


THE   ATHANASIAN   CREED  571 

It  is  a  lovely  spot,  sweet  soft  grass  and  grey  rocks  and 
the  melody  of  waters  and  rustling  foliage,  and  far  away, 
up  the  meadowed  valley,  a  green  fell,  fed  by  wandering 
sheep.  The  water  little  knows  what  it  will  have  to 
endure,  tortured  and  torn  and  twisted  and  lashed  into 
white  foam  and  falling  in  agonised  leaps  of  pain.  0 
many,  many  there  are  in  this  wild  and  troubled  world 
who  are  now  running  their  way  in  peace  through  still 
meadows  of  life,  who  to-morrow  will  be  in  the  tempest, 
and  racked  with  agony." 

June  12.  "  I  read  Parkman's  Volume  of  the  early 
French  Stations  in  America,  and  the  terrible  deeds  of 
the  Spaniards,  deeds  done  in  the  name  of  religion.  The 
curse  of  the  world  has  been  a  doctrinal  religion  crying — 
*  Which  faith  unless  a  man  keep  whole  and  undefiled 
without  doubt  he  shall  perish  everlastingly.'  That  is  a 
devihsh  phrase.  I  see  the  English  Church  are  trying 
to  get  the  Athanasian  Creed  (it  is  not  a  Creed)  out  of  the 
Services  of  the  Church  so  far  as  not  to  read  it  to  the  lait}^ 
Canterbury  agrees,  but  says — 'You  have  asked  a  hard 
thing.'  That  is  nonsense,  and  he  knows  it.  The  really 
hard  thing  is  the  imposition  of  the  Creed  on  the  ears  of 
men.  If  they  choose  to  relegate  it  as  an  historical  docu- 
ment to  the  end  of  the  Service  Book — well  and  good. 
But  better  and  more  good  would  be  to  say,  this  foolish 
Hymn  is  not  fit  for  the  souls  or  brains  of  men  who  desire 
to  love  God,  and  not  to  be  offended  by  foolish  thoughts. 
It  had  better  be  altogether  expunged." 

June  14.  "The  cows  have  been  very  amusing  to-day. 
They  are  driven  across  the  river  to  a  space  of  land 
covered  with  rank  grass.  The  meadow  near  the  house 
is  richer  in  grass  and  all  golden  with  buttercups.  As 
soon  as  their  herd  is  gone,  they  gallop  up  and  down 
with  their  tails  stiff  and  twisted,  and  circle  nearer  and 
nearer  the  stream ;  then  dash  across  it,  and  frolic  in  the 
deep  rich  meadow,  rejoicing  in  a  lushier  food.  Then 
comes  the  herd  and  the  dogs.  With  great  difficulty  they 
are  driven  across  the  river  again.  They  watch  behind 
the  low  trees  for  the  departure  of  their  herdsman,  and 
at  this  moment  they  are  returning,  gambolling  with  joy 


572    EXTRACTS   FROM   THE   DIARY  OF   1904 

and  devilment.  And  this  goes  on  the  greater  part  of 
the  day." 

June  15.  "  The  circle  ^  of  47  stones,  with  a  chapel 
towards  the  east  of  stones  set  in  an  oblong,  is  on  a 
fiattish  meadow,  and  commands  a  view  all  round  of  the 
mountains ;  only  towards  Penrith  the  ground  is  low  and 
open,  and  over  this  the  sun  rises.  Everywhere  else, 
south  and  north  and  west,  the  mountains  stand  round 
it  like  giants  met  to  worship.  No  site  that  I  have  ever 
seen  is  as  grand  as  this  for  a  religious  Temple.  All  the 
great  Ones  of  Nature  seem  to  encompass  it  with  adora- 
tion. It  was  easy  to  people  the  place  with  worshippers, 
and  to  feel  their  dim  thoughts  of  the  Power  who  lived  in 
it  all,  and  made  it  by  living  in  it.  And  I  seemed  to  hear 
the  universal  Prayer  when  the  uprising  Sun,  flaming 
through  the  gap  of  the  hills,  struck  on  the  Altar  Stone." 

July  3.  "I  don't  seem  to  understand  my  life  unless 
there  is  moving  water  near  me." 

High  Wethersell.^  July  4.  "  There  is  an  old  English 
or  rather  Teutonic  story,  that  Christ,  walking  one  day 
in  the  meadows  near  a  stream,  met  50  Gouts  and  60 
Goutesses,  and  asked  what  they  were  going  to  do.  To 
enter  into  men,  they  said,  and  plague  them !  Go  into 
those  trees,  the  Lord  said,  and  pointed  to  the  willows 
which  had  lately  been  pollarded.  And  they,  compelled, 
made  the  trees  their  home,  and  worked  their  will.  And 
this  is  the  cause  of  the  gnarled,  and  writhen  and  swollen 
knobs  at  the  head  of  the  willow  stems.  It  is  a  pity  some 
of  the  saints  will  not  come  on  the  earth  to  imjorison  our 
Gouts  and  their  dreadful  wives,  one  of  whom  is  always 
trying  to  take  lodgings  in  me.  At  the  end  of  ten  months 
she  succeeds  in  establishing  herself.  Then  I  go  to 
Homburg,  and  the  waters,  storming  in  upon  her,  eject 
her  with  infamy." 

J^dy  5.  "I  went  to  stay  at  Hurstcote ^  this  after- 
noon. I  did  not  go  to  the  afternoon  tea  when  S.  and  V. 
went,  but  wandered  about  the  garden.    It  is  a  jewel  of  a 

1  The  Druid  Circle,  near  Keswick. 

-  The  residence  of  his  son,  Mr  S.  W.  Brooke. 

'  The  residence  of  his  brother-in-law,  Mr  Somerset  Beaumont. 


PEOFESSOK  T.  H.  GREEN  573 

garden,  full  of  happy  and  pretty  freaks.  Nature  has  her 
own  way,  or  rather  S.  allows  Nature  to  have  her  own 
way,  except  when  she  is  too  lavish.  Then  he  delicately 
interferes.  The  Art  itself  is  Nature.  The  day  was 
beautiful  and  I  sat  in  the  garden  under  the  deep  shade 
of  a  Spanish  chestnut  and  listened  to  the  low  wind  in 
the  tall  poplar  among  the  roses.  It  only  whispered,  but 
all  its  tale  was  of  quiet  joy,  of  unrepenting  pleasure. 
Not  less  peaceful  was  the  garden  when  the  night  had 
come,  and  the  stars  shone  faintly  through  the  misty 
heat.  Only  the  poplar,  murmuring,  told  that  fine  airs 
were  moving  to  and  fro." 

Oxford.  Julys.  "  I  went  through  the  Balliol  Gardens 
to  the  Taylor  Institute  to  see  the  pictures.  I  looked  up 
at  Jowett's  house,  and  remembered  how  I  had  met 
Cheyne  there,  and  again  Green,  the  philosopher.  Jacks 
tells  me,  that  Green  did  nothing  but  listen  to  Jowect  and 
me  talking.  I  haven't  the  faintest  recollection  of  the  con- 
versation. I  only  remember  that  I  thought  Jowett  some- 
what priggish.  As  to  Green,  at  another  breakfast,  he 
did  not  say  one  word.  Silence  is  dull.  I  wonder  it  is 
cultivated.  And  I  tried,  having  lured  Green  into  a 
window,  to  make  him  talk.  He  wouldn't.  I  suppose 
he  was  musing  on  a  lecture.  Philosophers  who  growl 
over  their  bones  of  thought,  and  nothing  more,  are 
terrible  bores. 

"  The  Turners  at  the  Institute  are  chiefly  of  the  French 
series.  There  are  some  good  Hogarths,  a  beautiful 
Reynolds  of  Mrs  Meyrick,  a  few  good  Dutch  pictures,  a 
noble  Canaletto,  some  Rossettis,  for  which  I  did  not  care, 
Holman  Hunts,  one  of  which  I  liked,  and  many  other 
exhausting  things.  Addis  ^  came  in  the  evening,  and 
was  interesting.  I  like  that  man.  His  position  in 
Manchester  College  is  a  strange  one." 

Jiibj  9.  "Watts  was  a  great  artist,  but  he  was  over- 
ridden by  his  notion  that  he  was  a  Teacher.  An  artist, 
no  doubt,  teaches,  but  when  he  teaches  directly,  he  loses 
his  true  position.  A  certain  amount  of  his  artistry  is 
sacrificed  to  his  prophecy.     His  allegorical  pictures  leave 

'  Iha  late  Rev.  W.  E.  Addis. 


574    EXTRACTS  FROM  THE  DIARY  OF   1904 

me  cold,  so  far  as  I  am  conscious  of  their  teaching. 
Love  and  Death,  a  beautiful  thing,  is  more  symbolic 
than  allegorical,  and  there  is  a  clear  distinction  between 
these  forms  of  art.  Moreover,  Love  and  Death  is  pas- 
sionately human.  We  feel  the  married  pair  within  the 
doors  one  of  whom  is  to  be  suddenly  severed  from  the 
other.  It  is  not  an  allegory,  it  is  not  even  symbolic,  it 
is  a  record  of  love  and  sorrow  and  inevitable  fate,  in 
which  the  great  gods,  Love  and  Death,  are  engaged.  It 
is  like  the  beginning  of  the  Alcestis  of  Euripides." 

London.  July  13.  "  It  is  hideous  to  see  the  roses 
wither,  even  with  the  greatest  care  given  to  them,  in 
these  hot  rooms.  .  .  .  They  last  here  about  twenty-four 
hours  and  give  pleasure  all  the  time.  I  don't  think  they 
would  last  longer  on  the  tree,  and  this  perhaps  excuses 
their  being  plucked.  And  I  sometimes  think  that  flowers, 
and  especially  the  roses  which  are  so  near  and  dear  to 
man,  have,  as  the  ideal  aim  of  their  existence,  the  giving 
away  of  their  beauty  to  humanity.  When  a  rose  is 
divided  from  its  stem  and  brought  into  a  deep  glass  full 
of  water,  and  bent  over  by  those  that  love  it,  admired, 
praised,  and  feels  itself  a  source  of  divine  pleasure,  it 
says  to  itself — '  Ah,  I  have  reached  the  goal,  the  ideal  of 
my  life.     And  I  die  with  rapture.'  " 

July  16.  "  W.  [who  came  to  see  me]  was  much  the 
same,  still  living  in  the  psychic  realm,  still  haunting 
clairvoyantes,  still  playing  with  the  needless.  It  is  his 
way  of  fighting  the  boredom  which  like  a  great  serpent 
is  always  watching  to  tighten  its  cords  around  us.  I  use 
drawing  and  writing  for  that  purpose.  Another  man 
uses  politics,  another  science,  another  history,  another 
plailosophy,  another  drink,  another  dancing  parties,  balls, 
picnics,  another  thieving,  another  war — all  the  work  of 
the  world  is  the  struggle  not  to  be  bored.  And  from  this 
point  of  view,  which  is  not  a  noble  one,  how  very  foolish 
seems  this  world !  .  .  .  Clairvoyance,  psychic  pheno- 
mena, telepathic  business — there  is  something  in  them 
all— but  when  they  are  made  the  chief  business  of  life, 
they  thin  out  into  twaddle.  And  when  it  is  attempted 
to  make  them  scientific,  they  are  worse  than  twaddle. 


HIS   PAINTING  AT  INNSBRUCK  575 

They  rot  away  intelligence,  and  they  degrade  the  spiritual 
world." 

Innshnick.  August  27.  "It  was  a  day  for  resting, 
not  for  walking,  a  day  in  which  we  drink  beauty  like  old 
wine,  in  sips,  tasting  its  flavour  from  minute  to  minute. 
I  have  always  hated  swallowing  beauty  in  tumblers.  ^  So 
I  went  witii  E.  in  the  afternoon  along  the  river- side, 
sitting  down  for  contemplation's  sake  every  five  minutes. 
There  is  one  little  larch  grove  in  a  meadow,  all  starred 
with  white  flowers,  eyebright  and  gentians,  where  there 
are  two  seats  close  to  the  tumbling  stream,  and  its  music 
fills  the  ear.  And  there,  under  a  pine,  I  lay  down,  and 
wished  I  was  young  again,  and  that  Rosalind  would 
come  through  the  wood,  and  say  to  me,  as  she  said  to 
Celia  of  Orlando,  that  I  well  became  the  ground.  No 
such  luck  !  " 

August  28.  "In  the  gorge  which  a  tiny  stream  has 
scooped  out  of  the  mountain  I  sat  down,  and  tried  to 
draw  the  hollow  and  all  the  mountains.  It  is  an  im- 
possible business  for  me  whose  work  is  tentative,  not 
knowledgable.  But  it  is  in  its  being  tentative  that  its 
pleasure  consists  for  me.  It  is  pursuit.  The  higher 
pleasure  of  the  artist  who  is  able  to  see  and  record  what 
he  sees  is  of  course  denied  to  me.  I  recognize  my  limita- 
tions, but  working  within  them  amuses  me ;  and,  beyond 
that,  gives  me  additional  interest  and  pleasure  in  Nature. 
I  see  more  than  I  used  to  do,  and  see  it  better.  Were 
I  to  think  my  work  good,  I  should  lose  all  this  pleasure. 
But  I  know,  or  rather  enjoy  good  work  too  much  for 
that." 

Bavcno.  September  30.  "We  went  to  Intra  and 
walked  into  Pallanza.  Jupiter  is  now  a  noble  sight, 
lording  it  over  the  sky.  The  moon  rises  later.  Large 
hat  manufactories  have  been  set  up  near  Intra.  The 
machinery  is  driven  by  water  power.  I  wish  the  busi- 
ness people  would  build  somewhat  in  harmon}^  with 
their  surroundings.  The  incongruity  of  a  huge  white 
barrack  of  a  long  house  with  hideous  windows,  without 
one  touch  of  invention  or  colour  in  the  midst  of  sweet 
meadows  and  purple  hills,  and  skies  of  pearl  and  sapphire, 


576    EXTRACTS   FROM   THE   DIARY  OF   1904 

is  so  amazing  that  I  wonder  the  men  who  built  it  did  not 
sicken  as  they  saw  it.  I  believe  it  could  have  been  built 
more  cheaply  had  it  been  built  beautifully.  1  observed 
enormous  waste  of  labour  and  money  on  perfectly  useless 
matters,  conventional  devices  of  the  architect." 

October  3.  "  Took  the  steamer  to  Laveno  and  walked 
in  the  meadows.  A  clear  and  swift  stream,  crossed  by  a 
plank  bridge,  flows  here  into  the  lake.  It  comes  down 
from  full  springs,  and  its  waters  are  deep.  The  meadows 
on  either  side  have  many  golden  poplars  in  them,  and 
the  air  is  full  of  their  whispering  talk.  It  is  a  lovely 
piece  of  plenteous  quietude.  The  fault  of  Italian  scenery 
is  the  absence  of  running  water  flowing  full,  and  the 
presence  instead  of  wide,  dry,  stony  channels  through 
which  only  a  thread  of  water  winds  and  collects  in 
tiny  pools.  This  gives  the  impression  of  exhausted  life, 
exhausted  by  passion.  But  when  one  finds,  as  here  in 
Laveno,  a  lucid  stream,  quick,  swift  and  deep,  nothing 
can  be  lovelier.  All  the  meadows  and  trees  round  it 
rejoice  in  it,  and  are  more  beautiful  than  elsewhere." 

October  7.  "  I  like  to  hear  the  rain  falling  here. 
The  big  magnolias,  the  large-leaved  platans  in  the  garden 
are  like  sounding  plates  under  the  fringes  of  the  rain. 
The  air  is  full  of  a  loud  murmur  quite  different  from, 
softer  and  fuller,  than  the  noise  of  rain  on  the  roof. 
Another  sound,  a  low  whispering  sound  comes  from  the 
falling  of  the  rain  upon  the  lake,  and  the  ripples  are  also, 
in  rain,  a  little  louder  on  the  shore.  I  wandered  down 
to  the  fringes  of  the  lake  beyond  the  villa  and  skirting 
it,  came  out  on  the  wide  river  bed  below  the  bridge. 
Only  a  little  rill  of  a  stream  filters  down  among  the 
granite  waste.  Yet,  I  have  seen  this  broad  space  filled 
from  bank  to  bank  with  rushing  water,  roaring  among 
the  stones,  rolling  them  with  a  noise  like  thunder,  swell- 
ing over  them  and  drowning  them — a  real  revelation  of 
the  way  the  deep  gorges  were  carved  out  of  the  mountain 
sides." 

October  12.  "  I  went  to  Pallanza  and  walked  towards 
Intra.  The  rain  had  cleared,  the  clouds  Hfted.  I've 
rarely  seen  anything  more  magnificent  than  the  slow 


''TWELFTH  NIGHT"  577 

emergence  of  the  great  hills  and  woods  out  of  the  mist. 
One  is  all  eye  here,  and  the  soul  has  no  time  to  catch 
the  impressions  it  ought  and  keep  them,  they  are  so 
changing  and  so  swift  in  change,  so  innumerable.  They 
claim  the  eye  every  half  minute.  It  is  better  to  be  in  a 
place  not  so  beautiful,  not  so  various,  where  there  is 
time  to  love  that  we  see." 

October  13.  "  I  only  went  out  in  the  afternoon  to 
the  bridge  where  I  sketched  and  afterwards  walked  up 
through  the  woods  and  vineyards  to  the  first  village. 
The  grove  of  white  stemmed  poplars  had  lost  its  leaves, 
and  I  heard  it  whisper  to  me — 'It  is  time  to  depart.' 
The  paths  were  thick  with  fallen  chestnut  sheaths ;  the 
vines  were  withering  down ;  the  paths  were  damp  with 
heavy  dew,  the  maize  stalks  stood  naked  among  the 
mulberry  trees ;  all  the  world  had  begun  to  decay.  And 
I  felt  that  I  was  bound  to  leave  this  ravishing  world, 
and  to  begin  some  kind  of  work.  I  read  '  Twelfth 
Night '  as  I  lay  in  bed ;  and,  as  I  read,  I  thought,  I  have 
nothing  whatever  to  say  of  this  play.  It  is  not  one  I 
love.  I  dislike  Olivia — Malvolio  bores  me — Viola  is  too 
clever ;  but  Maria  is  charming,  and  Sir  Toby  Belch  is 
the  saving  element  in  Olivia's  house.  These  are  senti- 
ments I  can  scarcely  profess  in  a  lecture." 

Lucerne.  October  17.  "  Misty  this  morning,  but  the 
day  cleared  and  the  splendid  panorama  was  as  splendid 
as  before.  It  is  cold  and  keen,  no  love  in  it,  no  pity, 
merciless  excellence.  It  is  no  wonder  all  the  women 
are  ugly.  There  is  nothing  to  develop  womanliness  in 
the  scenery.  I  admire  it,  but  it  leaves  me  unaspiring 
and  chill.  When  the  sun  sets  the  snows  are  livid,  a 
masque  of  death  on  the  mountains.  I  wish  I  were  at 
Baveno.  I  have  tried  to  draw  Pilatus,  but  his  outline  is 
difiBcult.  Yet,  if  it  is  not  accurately  drawn,  the  mountain 
will  have  no  character,  and  it  has  a  very  marked  one. 
I  have  got  it  right  at  last,  but  how  long  it  takes  to  get 
anything  right.  It  is  a  curious  world  when  the  law  is 
that  one  must  go  through  all  the  wrong  ways  of  doing 
anything  before  one  arrives  at  the  right  way.  I  suppose 
this  has  its  use  and  no  doubt  its  noble  end.     But  I 


578    EXTRACTS  FROM  THE  DIARY  OF   1904 

should  like  to  know.  Yet,  if  I  knew  I  should  not  be 
human.  And  that  Humanity  should  exist  in  the  Uni- 
verse is  (and  I  am  sure  of  this)  an  excellent  thing." 

London.  October  19.  "England  was  in  sunshine 
till  we  came  to  the  skirts  of  London,  and  there  the 
smoke  lay  thick.  I  looked  down  to  the  streets  below, 
filled  with  the  restless  crowd  of  men  and  cars.  It  was 
like  looking  into  the  alleys  of  Pandemonium,  and  I 
thought  I  saw  thousands  of  black  winged  devils  rushing 
to  and  fro  among  the  mad  movement  of  the  host.  I 
grew  sick  as  I  looked  upon  it." 

October  22.  "  I  read,  after  a  long  interval,  Wood- 
stock. AVhen  I  was  young  I  liked  that  book  because  of 
the  ghostly  games  in  it.  But  now  I  read  it  as  literature, 
and  I  was  greatly  struck  with  its  inferiority,  and  that 
at  every  point,  in  characterization,  in  natural  descrip- 
tion, in  the  talk,  in  the  play  of  one  character  on  another, 
and  in  moral  thought.  There  are  purple  patches,  but 
not  many.  A  week  ago  I  read  the  Heart  of  Midlothian. 
What  a  difference  !     What  a  difference  !  " 

October  29.  "  Went  to  National  Gallery  with  V.  to 
see  the  new  Titian,  and  portrait  of  Ariosto  (?)  for  which 
we  have  given  a  large  sum,  not  too  large,  for  we  had 
previously  no  portrait  by  Titian's  hand.  The  so-called 
Ariosto,  formerly  given  to  Titian,  is  now  allotted  to 
Palma  Vecchio.  It  has  always  seemed  to  me  too  good 
for  Palma,  as  it  seemed  to  me  too  weak  for  Titian.  This 
new  portrait  is  indeed  not  weak.  It  is,  in  painting,  like 
Power  itself.  Were  it  not  by  Titian,  I  should  have 
thought  that  the  head  was  too  much  slewed  round,  but 
of  course  he  is  right.  Here  and  there,  especially  where 
the  whiskers  join  the  face,  the  painting  is  a  little  coarse, 
but  nothing  can  better  the  livmgness  and  the  strength 
of  the  whole.  It  looks  as  if  the  painter  had  taken  the 
soul  of  the  man  away  from  him  and  housed  it  in  the 
canvas.  That  Venetian  room  is  a  wonder.  There's 
scarcely  a  bad  picture  in  it,  and  each  of  the  painters  is 
represented  by  at  least  one  picture  done  in  his  finest 
manner.  Much  greater  Bellinis  are  of  course  in 
Venice,  but  none  more  exquisite  than  the  death  of  St 


MEMORIES   OF  BURNE   JONES  579 

Peter,  Martyr.  The  Marriage  at  Cana  in  the  Louvre  is 
a  greater  picture  than  the  Family  of  Darius,  but  the 
latter  is  as  fine  a  piece  of  Veronese's  work,  I  like  it 
better,  for  it  is  less  merely  decorative.  I  might  go 
through  them  all  in  the  same  way.  Where,  e.g.,  is  the 
Catena  of  St  Jerome  to  be  beaten  ?  " 

December  19.  "  Nothing  written  here  for  more  than 
a  month.  The  fact  is  that  London  life  does  not  interest 
me  enough  to  put  it  down.  Moreover  I  have  been 
writing  lectures  on  Shakespeare's  plays,  and  these  get 
so  on  my  mind  that  I  grudge  even  the  ten  minutes 
needful  to  write  in  this  book,  and  then  once  I  omit 
writing  in  it  for  two  or  three  days,  I  forget  its  existence. 
The  cessation  of  the  Lectures  and  the  winding  up  of 
neglected  correspondence  have  now  induced  me  to  re- 
member it." 

December  21.  "  I  have  been  reading  Ned's  life  [Sir 
E.  Burne  Jones].  0  what  memories  it  brings  back ! 
How  much  I  saw  of  him  once,  how  little  I  saw  of  him 
in  the  last  years.  I  could  not  manage  it.  We  were  so 
far  away;  and  I  was  so  much  out  of  London.  When 
Morris  died,  I  was  away.  When  Ned  died,  I  was  away 
also.  'Your  friend  is  dead,'  my  brother  William  said, 
as  he  came  into  my  room  while  I  was  still  in  bed  at 
8  a.m.  '  What  friend,'  said  I.  *  Why  Burne  Jones,'  he 
answered,  and  I  thought  that  the  house  of  life  had  fallen 
in.  The  last  time  I  had  met  him  was  in  Great  Portland 
Street.  We  talked  of  the  replica  he  had  made  of  Lore 
among  the  Ruins.  'It's  better  painted,'  I  said,  'but  the 
ineffable  spirit  of  youth  which  was  in  the  other,  is  not 
there.'  '  0  that  is  true,'  he  said,  '  and  it  will  not  come 
back  again.'  And  I  said,  '  Never,  never,  never,  never, 
never,'  and  Lear  did  not  say  it  more  truly — of  myself  at 
least.  Those  days  in  the  early  seventies  when  I  first 
knew  him — I  was  nearly  forty— how  alive  we  were,  how 
full,  how  onlooking,  how  pursuing  !  I  wish  I  had  known 
him  two  years  earlier.  Yet  he  was  graver,  and  some- 
what more  weighed  by  life  then,  than  he  was  ten  years 
later,  when  he  had  mastered  life,  and  knew  his  mastery 
in  his  art." 


580    EXTRACTS  FROM   THE   DIARY  OF   1904 

December  23.  "  Mr.  P.  came  to  see  me.  He  gave 
me  a  painful  picture  of  the  way  in  which  many  of  the 
poor  children  came  dinnerless,  and  in  boots  like  sponges 
through  the  wet  streets  to  school.  I  feel  more  and  more 
how  abominable  our  social  system  is.  As  long  as  it  con- 
tinues as  it  is,  these  things  cannot  be  remedied  except 
in  patches.  And  the  remedies  at  present  increase  instead 
of  lessening  the  evils.  The  whole  State  arrangements 
need  radical  change,  and  above  all  the  whole  social 
temper  of  the  world.  There  is  no  feeling  that  every 
citizen  and  Parliament  as  representing  the  citizens  is 
absolutely  responsible  for  the  diseases  of  the  State. 
There  is  no  civic  conscience  at  all  in  England  or 
elsewhere." 

Decemher  31.  "  All  is  silence  here  in  my  room, 
where  the  roses  are  unfolding  sweetly,  and  in  the  silence 
there  are  many  voices  of  the  dead, — those  that  speak 
without  words — and  a  few  voices  of  the  living— also 
wordless.  But  I  know  what  they  say,  and  it  is  too  much 
for  me.    Farewell,  1904." 


BOOK   VI 
OLD   AGE 

CHAPTER  XXIX 

ATTAINMENT 

"  I  shall  now  keep  to  Nature  and  let  humanity  go  its  own  way 
without  me.  I  have  not  neglected  mankind,  and  it  can  do  without  me, 
except  so  far  as  I  hope  still  to  be  able  to  write  for  it  a  little.  But  I 
won't  go  any  more  into  its  whirlpools.  This  place  I  think,  as  you 
know,  quite  perfect.  I  felt  as  if  the  dew  of  dawn  had  fallen  on  my 
parched  soul  when  I  found  myself  on  the  boat  and  heard  the  water 
rippling  round  the  bow  of  the  celestial  chariot  in  which  I  seemed  to  be 
borne,  and  saw  the  shining  levels  of  the  lake,  and  the  blue  mountains, 
and  in  the  sky,  among  the  rosy  cloudlets,  the  silver  moon.  Peace, 
peace,  everywhere — the  peace  which,  below  her  ceaseless  agitation,  lies 
in  the  heart  of  Nature,  far  and  deep,  but  which  sometimes  in  hours 
when  the  burden  of  the  world's  trouble  is  lifted  ofi,  we  too  can  get 
down  to  and  partake.  We  touch  it  in  hours  of  great  and  pure  joy,  or 
in  hours  of  great  weariness  when  the  veil  of  the  body  is  very  thin." — 
(To  his  daughter  Honor.     Baveno.    June  5,  1906.) 

There  is  a  philosophy — or  is  it  only  a  state  of  mind 
— according  to  which  everything  in  the  world  exists  for 
the  sake  of  something  else.  Nothing  stands  in  its  own 
rights ;  nothing  can  claim  its  soul,  if  it  has  one,  as  its 
own.  The  actual  is  for  the  possible,  the  real  for  the 
ideal,  the  present  for  the  future.  Art  is  for  edification, 
knowledge  for  use,  and  the  experience  that  is  for  the 
experience  that  is  to  be.  The  best  moments  of  life  are 
not  good  enough,  and  only  worth  having  because  they 


582  ATTAINMENT 

lead  up  to  others  better  than  themselves.  To  the  dis- 
ciple of  this  doctrine  every  experience  is  complicated  by 
the  question,  "Will  it  do  good?"  and  when  that  is 
satisfactorily  answered  he  must  ask  again,  "Will  the 
good  it  does  yield  greater  good  later  on  ?  " — and  so 
ad  infinitum.  No  period  of  life,  therefore,  can  be  treated 
as  an  end  in  itself.  Its  values  are  always  just  out  of 
sight,  or,  as  a  modern  writer  has  expressed  it,  "  round 
the  corner."  Indeed,  the  whole  universe  exists  not  to  be 
enjoyed  but  to  be  turned  to  account.  The  world  is  a 
sponge,  out  of  which  endless  *'  lessons "  are  to  be 
squeezed ;  and  the  lessons  when  extracted  become  sponges 
in  their  turn. 

The  followers  of  this  obscure  and  dismal  philosophy, 
which  nevertheless  contains  a  partial  truth,  will  hardly 
approve  of  the  manner  in  which  Brooke  spent  the  last 
ten  years  of  his  life.  They  were  not  spent  in  conscious 
effort  to  improve  the  occasion,  nor  to  improve  the  world, 
nor  to  improve  himself — not  in  any  sense,  that  is,  which 
the  utilitarian  would  give  to  the  word  "  improve."  They 
were  spent  in  the  realm  of  ''absolute  values"  in  which 
Brooke,  as  a  child  of  nature  and  a  lover  of  beauty,  had 
long  been  at  home.  I  leave  it  to  the  pontiffs  of  con- 
sistency to  declare  whether  this  was  or  was  not  in  full 
keeping  with  his  previous  professions.  To  those  who 
knew  him  best  it  seemed  that  he  had  attained  his  destined 
goal,  and  that  any  other  ending  would  have  left  his  life 
unfinished. 

It  is  true  that  off  and  on  during  this  period  Brooke 
did  a  good  deal  of  work,  though  it  rapidly  diminished  as 
time  went  on.  He  preached  and  lectured  occasionally, 
at  Manchester  College,  Oxford,  and  at  Rosslyn  Hill 
Chapel;  he  also  published  half  a  dozen  volumes  of 
sermons  and  literary  studies — most  of  which,  however, 


WOEK  DECLINING  583 

was  the  revision  of  earlier  writing.  But  there  was  none 
of  the  continuous  and  sustained  exertion  which  he  had 
put  forth  in  earher  years,  and  none  of  that  desire  to  die 
working  and  fighting,  tools  in  hand  or  harness  on  back, 
which  has  marked  the  old  age  of  many  gifted  men. 
From  1906  onwards  the  will  to  exert  himself  in  literary 
or  other  labours  gradually  lost  its  power  until  it  finally 
ceased  to  exist.  And  the  diaries  of  the  period  bear 
witness  to  his  knowledge  that  this  power  was  dying 
within  him ;  that  of  1906  in  particular  refers  to  the 
matter  again  and  again.  Sometimes  the  reference  is 
accompanied  with  expressions  of  regret,  as  though  his 
conscience  were  reproaching  him.  But  the  regret  so 
expressed  always  closes  in  a  note  of  satisfaction,  and  as 
time  goes  on  it  disappears  altogether.  Take  the  follow- 
ing, written  at  Baveno  in  June,  1906  {cetat  74)  : — 

"  I  have  seen  little  of  the  stars  this  time,  and  I  have 
not  seen  many  within.  Probably  because  I  have  done 
nothing.  He  who  has  no  labour  sees  no  stars.  'Tis 
easy  to  form  ideals,  but,  unstriven  for,  they  thin  out  like 
ghosts  and  vanish  with  a  pale  cry  which  rings  for  many 
weeks  in  the  air  of  the  soul.  I  try  and  persuade  myself 
that  this  idle  rest  is  right  for  me  who  have  been  so 
worried  by  myself,  and  that  at  Homburg  I  shall  do 
abundance  of  work,  but  I  do  not  know.  The  only  way 
to  do  anything  in  the  world  is  to  do  it.  Sounds  simple 
that !  but  it  is  infinitely  complex  when  it  is  tried.  And 
to  know  this  is  not  to  will  it.  Meanwhile  I've  drunk 
deep  of  beauty,  nor  have  I  neglected  it.  And  that  may 
be  counted  to  me  for  righteousness.  Perhaps  it  is  all 
an  old  man  can  do  thoroughly  well.  For  the  other 
powers  do  not  answer  the  call  easily.  They  are  half 
asleep.  They  have  to  be  roused  with  a  trumpet,  and 
the  trumpet  is  heavy,  and  the  breath  to  fill  it  slackens 
soon.  Hac  data  poena  dm  viventibus."  [June  18, 
1906.] 

VOL.    II.  Q 


oQ4  ATTAINMENT 

In  1901  he  had  written  thus  to  jMrs  Montague 
Crackanthorpe : — 

"As  to  dying  in  harness,  certainly,  if  the  harness  is 
comfortable,  and  only  put  on  when  one  desires  it.  But 
to  die  like  a  post-horse  in  a  tarantass,  no  thank  you. 
I'm  sick  of  being  too  much  in  harness  and  I  have  no 
ambition  to  die  working.  Green  said  '  I  die  learning.' 
I  say,  I  shall  die  unlearning,  and,  'pon  my  word,  it's  the 
wiser  of  the  two  sayings."     [December  31,  1901.] 

Six  years  later  the  same  thought  occurs  in  the  diary. 

"  I've  no  desire  whatever  to  die  in  harness.  There 
is  nothing  more  foolish.  0  no !  A  green  meadow  by  a 
river,  with  soft  grass,  and  a  rustle  of  wind  in  the  walnut 
trees,  and  a  chat  with  the  young  foals  when  they  are 
tired  of  gambolling — that  is  the  joroper  end  for  an  old 
horse  which  has  done  his  work.  No  horse  should  become 
an  ass,  and  to  die  in  harness  is  asinine."  [August  14, 
1907.] 

These  passages  contain  the  secret  of  the  last  years  in 
the  life  of  Stopford  Brooke.  He  spent  them  in  reaping 
the  harvest  of  his  soul,  in  the  enjoyment  of  the  spiritual 
vision  which  was  his  reward  for  a  lifelong  quest  of  ideal 
beauty  and  for  half  a  century  of  self-forgetful  work.  He 
had  come  to  the  goal  of  his  desires,  which  was  to  love 
and  to  be  beloved,  and  there,  like  a  traveller  unexhausted 
by  his  journey,  he  sat  down  by  the  waters  of  life  and 
lingered,  looking  to  a  beyond,  it  is  true,  but  to  a  beyond 
which  is  not  of  this  world. 

There  are  men  who  prepare  themselves  for  immor- 
tality by  moral  exertions,  pursued  by  the  categorical 
imperative  to  the  very  end ;  and  doubtless  they  have 
their  reward.  Far  be  it  from  me  to  say  that  Brooke 
had  had  no  part  or  lot  with  these  men.  But  he  had 
graduated  in  a  larger  university.  He  had  drunk  so  deep 
of  beauty  that  the  loveliness  which  is  in  nature  had  passed 


''ABSOLUTE   VALUES"  5  85 

into  his  personality;  and  it  was  reckoned  to  him  for 
righteousness.  His  old  age  belonged  to  a  realm  which 
morality  reaches  after,  but  cannot  express.  One  felt 
that  moral  criticism  was  as  much  out  of  place  as  if  it 
were  applied  to  a  sunset,  or  to  the  evening  star,  or  to  a 
noble  river  when  it  nears  the  sea — or  to  any  other  great 
thing  in  that  world  of  natural  beauty,  of  which  he  seemed 
to  be  a  thinking,  speaking  part.  There  he  lived  content, 
save  only  for  such  limitations  as  the  ills  of  the  body  im- 
posed upon  him,  waiting  with  intense  expectation,  but 
without  impatience,  for  what  the  future  might  reveal. 
He  was  rich  in  inward  satisfactions,  and  was  a  satisfying 
presence  to  those  who  loved  him.  Never  was  he  nearer 
to  the  springs  of  perennial  youth ;  of  the  harshness,  the 
despondency,  the  vain  regrets,  the  irritability  that  are 
said  to  accompany  old  age  there  was  not  a  trace.  "  He 
grew  old,"  writes  one  who  knew  him  well,  "  but  he  never 
grew  elderly.    He  was  the  youngest  of  us  all." 

Never  had  he  been  of  those,  the  great  majority  in 
modern  times,  who  look  upon  this  world  as  a  place  to  be 
exploited  in  the  interests  of  human  desires,  material, 
intellectual,  or  even  moral.  "  Why  can't  they  leave  the 
poor  old  Thing  alone '? "  he  had  written  in  1870  to 
J.  R.  Green  of  some  people  who  had  been  talking  to 
him  about "  improving  the  world."  He  shuddered  when- 
ever, in  books  or  in  conversation,  he  came  across  the 
moral  commonplaces  which  describe  the  world  as  "  a 
workshop."  "  That,"  he  would  say,  "  is  the  lowest  depth 
to  which  Philistinism  has  fallen."  Hardly  less  was  his 
indignation  when  he  heard  the  world  spoken  of  as  "a 
school " — a  pedant's  view  of  the  universe,  and  some- 
thing of  a  hbel  on  the  wonderful  works  of  the  Lord. 

In  all  this  Brooke's  genius  was  much  akin  to  the 
spirit  of  the  East.    Among  the  great  men  of  the  East 


586  ATTAINMENT 

now  living,  there  was  indeed  one  with  whom  he  confessed 
his  affinity.  In  1911  he  made  the  acquaintance  of 
Eabindranath  Tagore,  and  the  two  men  spent  some 
hours  together.  Strangely  enough  he  would  never  tell 
any  one  what  passed  in  these  interviews,  though,  in 
general,  he  would  repeat  to  his  children  every  detail  of 
a  conversation  with  any  visitor  who  had  interested  him. 
Nor  is  there  a  word  about  the  matter  in  his  diaries.  All 
he  would  say  was,  "  I  have  had  a  wonderful  time,  a 
wonderful  time  !  "  But  the  secret  is  not  hard  to  fathom. 
The  following  passage  from  Tagore' s  Sadhana  contains 
the  essential  message  of  Stopford  Brooke. 

"  When  this  perception  of  the  perfection  of  unity 
[between  man  and  Nature]  is  not  merely  intellectual, 
when  it  opens  out  our  whole  being  into  a  luminous 
consciousness  of  the  all,  then  it  becomes  a  radiant  joy, 
an  over-spreading  love.  Our  spirit  finds  its  larger  self 
in  the  whole  world,  and  is  filled  with  an  absolute  certainty 
that  it  is  immortal.  It  dies  a  hundred  times  in  its  en- 
closures of  self ;  for  separateness  is  doomed  to  die,  it 
cannot  be  made  eternal.  But  it  never  can  die  where  it 
is  one  with  the  all,  for  there  is  its  truth,  its  joy.  When 
a  man  feels  the  rhythmic  throb  of  the  soul-life  of  the 
whole  world  in  his  own  soul,  then  he  is  free.  Then  he 
enters  into  the  secret  courting  that  goes  on  between  this 
beautiful  world-bride,  veiled  with  the  veil  of  the  many- 
coloured  finiteness,  and  the  pammatmam,  the  bridegroom, 
in  his  spotless  white.  Then  he  knows  that  he  is  the 
partaker  of  this  gorgeous  love  festival,  and  he  is  the 
honoured  guest  at  the  feast  of  immortality.  Then  he 
understands  the  meaning  of  the  seer-poet  who  sings, 
'  From  love  the  world  is  born,  by  love  it  is  sustained, 
towards  love  it  moves,  and  into  love  it  enters.'  " 

Compare  with  the  above  the  following  description  of 
the  elfin  goddess  of  the  Louisa-Brunnen,  from  Brooke's 
Diary  of  1903 :— 


THE   SPIRIT   OF  THE   WIND  587 

*'  There  is  nothing  in  Nature  she  loved  more  than 
the  music,  the  wind,  in  Zephyr  or  in  tempest,  made  in 
the  trees,  and  the  movement  of  the  leaves  and  branches 
which  she  said  was  the  dance  of  the  woods  to  the  tune  of 
the  Wind.  She  had  a  dance  of  her  own  which  she  called 
the  Wind-dance,  and  a  wonderful  Thing  it  was  to  see. 
And,  as  I  looked  at  her  dancing,  I  saw  that  the  trees 
and  blossoming  thorns  and  all  the  grass  and  flowers 
danced  with  her.  When  the  sun  shone  and  the  wind 
was  warm  and  soft,  her  dress  was  of  the  blue  of  the 
hare-bell,  and  her  girdle  of  the  blue  of  clear  streams; 
but  when  the  dark  clouds  massed  themselves  into  rush- 
ing movement,  and  the  Wind  was  Storm — she  wore  a 
red  robe  so  deep  in  colour  that  it  was  almost  black,  and 
her  girdle  was  made  of  woven  lightning.  And  brighter 
than  the  lightning  of  her  belt  were  her  eyes.  And  she 
sang  her  own  Storm- Song,  and  at  her  song  the  rain  came 
out  of  his  chambers,  and  her  Water-soul  loved  the  rain, 
and  I  loved  her  elemental  charm.  She  grew,  as  it  were, 
into  the  Goddess  Nature,  at  whose  feet,  in  that,  at  least, 
like  Chaucer,  I  have  worshipped  all  my  life.  For  the 
moment  she  was  her  Incarnation."  [High  Wethersell, 
June  3,  1903.] 

The  desire,  of  which  these  passages  speak,  had  been 
with  him  for  years,  filling  the  months  he  had  to  spend 
in  London  with  the  echoes  of  another  life.  But  his  love 
of  Nature  was  mingled  with  a  love,  equally  intense, 
of  humanity,  and  with  family  affection.  These  had  long 
held  him  fast  bound  amid  the  haunts  of  men.  "Why 
do  I  live  in  London  when  I  hate  it  so  deeply  and  could 
so  easily  escape?  "  is  a  question  which  the  diaries  repeat 
again  and  again.  The  answer  is  that  London  was  the 
centre  of  his  family  life,  from  which  it  was  impossible  to 
tear  himself  away,  and  of  all  his  artistic  and  humani- 
tarian interests.  Beneath  his  hatred  of  London  there 
was,  though  perhaps  he  knew  it  not,  a  love  of  it  as  the 
one  place  on  earth  where  his  idealism  found  its  readiest 


588  ATTAINMENT 

response  in  human  hearts;  and  it  was  precisely  this 
mingling  of  love  and  hatred  which  made  his  life  in 
London  so  fruitful  in  creative  work.  Dr  Johnson  loved 
the  great  city  for  reasons  not  altogether  dissimilar, 
though  without  the  accompanying  hatred  which  enriched 
the  love  of  Brooke. 

And  here  I  am  tempted  to  make  a  remark  which, 
after  what  has  gone  before,  may  at  first  surprise  the 
reader.  On  general  grounds,  on  all  outward  and  super- 
ficial grounds,  it  would  be  hard  to  find  two  men  as  unlike 
one  another  as  were  Samuel  Johnson  and  Stopford 
Brooke.  And  yet  amid  all  this  dissimilarity  there  is  a 
likeness,  not  less  striking  than  that  which  exists  on 
other  grounds  to  Goethe  and  to  Scott.  No  one  can  read 
the  diaries  of  Brooke's  old  age  without  being  constantly 
reminded  of  the  conversations  of  Johnson.  There  is  the 
same  abounding  sanity,  the  same  glorified  common  sense, 
the  same  resolute  facing  of  the  fact,  the  same  scorn  for 
hollow  phrases  and  cant,  the  same  independence,  the 
same  unconcern  for  petty  consistencies,  and  above  all 
the  same  tenderness.  Of  Johnson's  bad  manners  there 
was  no  trace,  but  when  Johnson  was  well-mannered  his 
manners  remind  us  of  Brooke.  Both,  again,  possessed 
the  mass  and  volume  of  personality  which  give  men  a 
natural  dominance,  and  put  common  standards  out  of 
court.  Johnson  was  an  autocrat.  There  was  a  touch,  a 
pleasing  touch,  of  the  same  quality  in  Brooke. 

In  1911,  being  then  79  years  of  age,  he  built  him- 
self a  house  in  the  country,  characteristically  named 
"  The  Four  Winds."  He  had  purchased  a  field  on  a  hill- 
top in  Surrey,  commanding  a  wide  prospect  of  forest  and 
weald,  and,  having  chosen  the  site  of  the  house  with 
extraordinary  skill,  he  turned  the  field  into  a  large  and 
beautiful  garden,  adorned  with  avenues  of  young  trees, 


*'THE    POUR  WINDS"  589 

and  Slocked  with  roses  to  overflowing.  Wise  people 
shook  their  heads,  and  gave  him  hints  that  this  was  a 
rash  and  unusual  undertaking  at  his  time  of  life.  Upon 
Brooke  these  warnings  made  no  impression  whatever, 
indeed,  I  think  he  took  a  secret  pleasure  in  the  conscious- 
ness that  he  was  defying  the  wisdom  of  this  world.  Nor 
was  the  defiance  altogether  unpleasing  to  his  would-be 
advisers,  the  most  prudent  of  whom  were  bound  to  con- 
fess there  was  something  superb  in  the  spectacle  of  a 
man,  verging  on  eighty,  whom  nothing  could  repress  or 
dishearten.  Certain  it  is  that  he  made  his  plans  and 
carried  them  out  with  as  much  ardour  and  thoroughness 
as  if  he  had  another  fifty  years  to  live.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  he  had  only  five.  But  so  keen  was  his  interest  in 
this  undertaking,  and  so  many  were  the  satisfactions  it 
brought  him,  that  the  result  may  almost  be  claimed  as 
another  renewal  of  his  youth,  and  that  at  the  very 
moment  when  the  shadows  of  evening  were  falling  fast. 
He  never  repented  of  what  he  had  done,  nor  do  I  think 
he  had  any  cause  to  repent.  This  was  his  last  adventure, 
and  it  gave  the  final  touch  of  beauty  to  a  wonderful  old 
age  which  has  few  parallels  among  the  recorded  lives 
of  men. 

"  The  Four  Winds,"  to  which  he  finally  retired  in 
1914,  still  remained  the  centre  of  the  family  life.  It  was 
in  close  proximity  to  the  residence  of  his  eldest  and  only 
surviving  son,  Mr  S.  W.  Brooke.  The  district,  moreover, 
was  one  with  which  he  had  long  been  familiar  and  which 
he  dearly  loved.  The  house  of  his  brother-in-law,  Mr 
Somerset  Beaumont,  which  had  been  a  second  home  for 
his  children  for  many  years,  was  not  far  away,  and  he 
had  numerous  friends  in  the  neighbourhood.  Naturally 
his  art  treasures  went  with  him,  and  they  too,  Hberated 
from  the  dim  atmosphere  of  London,  and  placed  where 


590  ATTAINMENT 

great  lights  fell  upon  them  from  the  open  sky,  seemed  to 
rejoice  and  to  acquire  a  new  power  of  giving  delight, — at 
least  they  did  so  in  the  eyes  of  Brooke.  The  house  was 
beautiful  within  and  without ;  there  was  a  landscape  in 
front  and  a  forest  behind ;  it  was  a  place  where  at  any 
hour  you  might  watch  the  sailing  clouds  or  the  constel- 
lations, and  it  was  played  upon  by  all  the  breezes  of 
heaven.  When  I  asked  him  why  he  called  his  house 
"  The  Four  Winds,"  and  reminded  him  that  there  are 
many  more  on  the  shipman's  card,  he  answered  that  four 
were  enough  to  fill  the  sails  of  a  weather-beaten  mariner 
provided  he  had  a  single  star  to  steer  by.  "  And  that," 
he  added,  "I  have." 

Such  was  the  scene  in  which  Brooke's  pilgrimage 
drew  to  its  close.  The  five  years  passed  like  a  long 
summer  evening,  a  Sunday  evening  in  June,  when  the 
light  fades  so  gradually  and  lingers  so  long  that  it  seems 
to  imerge  into  the  dawn.  It  was  a  life  lived  on  the 
frontier  which  separates  this  world  from  another,  and  it 
was  filled  with  an  abiding  joy  which  seemed  to  shed  itself 
abroad  on  the  persons,  and  even  on  the  objects,  by  which 
he  was  surrounded.  Of  the  desire  to  have  done  with  life 
there  was  not  a  trace.  His  spirit  clung  tenaciously  to 
the  earth  he  had  found  so  fair — "  this  pleasant  surface," 
as  he  used  to  call  it.  His  interest  in  persons  and  events 
was  unabated,  and  his  love  of  the  scene  around  him,  of 
the  stars,  of  the  flowers,  and  of  the  flowing  wind  gave 
him  continual  occupation  and  delight.  He  was  no 
solitary.  He  remembered  all  his  friends,  wrote  regularly 
to  his  sisters,  his  children,  and  his  grandchildren,  never 
forgot  a  festival  or  a  birthday,  and  remained  the  vital 
centre  of  the  whole  family  life,  to  whom  everybody's 
sayings  were  reported  as  a  matter  of  course,  the  pene- 
trating,  large-hearted  critic  of  all  characters  and  all 


EVENTIDE  591 

actions.  To  the  very  end  the  reaction  of  his  mind  was 
felt  through  every  fibre  of  the  family  life.  Nor  could  any 
of  his  friends  forget  that  he  was  alive,  thoughtful,  loving, 
and  tender. 

During  these  years  he  took  companionship  or  solitude 
just  as  they  came.  No  welcome  could  be  warmer — I 
have  never  found  one  half  so  warm — as  that  which 
Brooke  gave  to  his  visitors  at  "  The  Four  Winds."  His 
Irish  temperament  never  left  him.  He  loved  a  chat  with 
a  congenial  soul,  and  loved  it  best  when  the  keynote  was 
gaj'.  Dull  souls  indeed  he  could  not  abide.  But  his 
notions  of  brightness  were  catholic,  and  he  welcomed  it 
equally  in  the  enthusiasms  of  boys  and  girls,  in  the  keen 
perceptions  of  artists,  in  the  intellectual  passions  of 
philosophers.  Thus  he  had  always  been  and  thus  he 
remained.  He  would  pass  the  hours  with  nature  or  with 
man,  and  feel  in  either  case  that  the  day  had  been 
well  spent.  "A  good  day"  is  a  frequent  entry  in  his 
later  diaries,  and  it  means  that  he  had  met  some  bright 
and  eager  soul,  or  found  some  fresh  beauty  in  the  natural 
world.  The  two  things  affected  him  almost  alike,  and 
for  that  reason  he  could  take  his  pleasure  indifferently  in 
solitude  or  society.  "When  there  were  no  visitors  he 
would  paint ;  or  he  would  spend  long  hours  alone,  seated 
under  a  great  beech  tree  in  his  garden ;  or  he  would  go 
out  by  himself  under  the  stars ;  not  to  think,  not  to 
moralize,  but  simply  to  lose  himself  in  the  worlds  of 
imagination  and  love.  And  yet  he  was  never  so  lost  on 
these  occasions  as  not  to  be  susceptible  of  instant  recall. 
The  partition  between  the  visible  and  the  invisible  worlds 
was  for  him  exceedingly  thin,  and  he  could  pass  from 
the  one  to  the  other  in  a  flash. 

"  As  I  grow  older,"  he  writes  from  "  The  Four  Winds  " 


592  ATTAINMENT 

to  his  sister  Honor,  in  1911,  "1  get  further  and  further 
apart  from  the  earth  and  all  it  holds,  so  that  often  I  seem 
not  to  be  here  at  all,  and  have,  whenever  anj^thing 
belonging  to  this  life  has  to  be  inquired  into  or  to  be 
done,  to  summon  myself  back  from  some  place  where  I  am 
living.  I  still  enjoy  the  beauty  of  the  earth  and  sky,  but 
in  a  different  way  from  the  enjoyment  of  old  days  .  .  . 
I  sit  with  my  hands  folded  and  look  at  it  all,  and  it  passes 
through  me  like  love." 


CHAPTER  XXX 

EXTRACTS    FROM    THE  DIARY    OF    1908 

London.  January  2.  "  Stayed  at  home  and  dined  at  home. 
Curiously  uneventful  now  are  all  my  days.  No  history  ! 
They  say  that  it  is  a  good  thing,  but  I  have  not  been 
accustomed  to  a  life  v/ithout  incidents,  accidents,  changes, 
and  events.  It  strikes  odd,  especially  as  the  life  within 
is  also  flat.  All  that  I  think  of  the  questions  of  life  and 
of  the  world  is  also  settled.  I  seem  to  have  gone  through 
these  problems  and  come  out  of  their  tangled  wood  into 
clear  air  and  open  space.  They  trouble  me  no  more ; 
not  even  the  new  forms  of  them  which  the  younger 
generation  have  shaped  for  discussion.  These,  like  the 
older  forms,  seem  to  me  merely  intellectual,  fresh 
analyses  of  old  substance  or  reproductions  in  a  shape 
slightly  changed  by  circumstance,  of  ancient  analyses. 
I  remember  that  after  I  had  published  a  Volume  of 
Sermons,  I  think  three  years  ago,  in  which  I  thought  I 
had  said  some  new  things  concerning  doctrine,  I  picked 
up  a  book  of  Early  Christianity  in  Ireland,  and  opened 
it  on  an  account,  somewhat  elaborate,  of  the  views  of 
Pelagius.  I  was  highly  amused  by  discovering  that 
where  I  thought  iny  views  were  quite  fresh,  they  had 
been  already  stated  and  argued  by  Pelagius.  It  was 
most  instructive.  All  that  is  new,  I  said,  is  nothing  but 
the  old  refurbished,  and  I  dare  say  Pelagius  himself  had 
some  day  or  other  my  very  experience.  There  are  certain 
lines  on  which  men  in  all  ages  think.  The}^  are  constant. 
All  that  is  changed  is  the  form  and  clothing.  And  to 
this  there  is  a  strict  analogy  in  the  history  of  Folk  Lore." 
January  6.  "  The  frost  has  gone  !  There  is  no  con- 
sistency in   this   Enghsh  climate.     It   changes   like   a 


594    EXTRACTS  FROM  THE   DIARY  OF  1908 

woman,  but  without  a  woman's  charm.  Yet  I  am  glad 
to  be  no  longer  half  frozen  in  body  and  brain,  to  have  only 
half  one's  faculties,  to  find  living  as  difficult  as  climbing 
the  Weisshorn.  The  East  wind  charged  down  the  streets 
like  a  regiment  of  Lancers.  It  must,  like  David,  have 
slaughtered  its  ten  thousand.  Kingsley  liked  it,  and 
wrote  a  foolish  song  in  its  praise.  It  is  characteristic 
of  its  odious  nature  that  it  killed  him.  Its  hate  makes 
disease,  its  love  is  death." 

January  7.  "  I  read  Jebb's  life.  It  was  not  done 
interestingly,  but  then  he  does  not  seem  to  be  a  man  of 
any  original  quality.  He  was  a  first-rate  scholar,  and 
did  excellent  work  in  that  direction.  He  had  a  great 
deal  of  Philistine  common  sense  and  intelligence  in  the 
affairs  of  life,  but  he  was  not  in  touch  with  progress — a 
University  man,  not  a  man  of  the  moving  world.  But 
he  had  a  subtle  penetration  into  the  essential  meaning 
of  Greek  writers,  and  it  was  not  only  the  penetration  of 
great  knowledge  and  its  keen  intelligence ;  it  was  also 
the  penetration  of  feeling.  His  English  style  was  formal, 
and  his  translations  of  Sophocles  were,  with  all  their 
acuteness,  made  so  deucedly  Addisonian,  that  they  lost 
the  savour  of  the  Greek.  It  is  hard,  on  reading  them, 
to  believe  that  Sophocles  had  genius.  It  is,  if  true, 
curious  that  he  should  think  the  Philoctetes  the  best 
play  of  Sophocles.    I  can  hardly  believe  it." 

January  8.  *'  I  read  Edwin  Drood  at  intervals.  ...  I 
am  bored  by  the  narration  in  Edwin  Drood  being  so 
much  in  the  present  tense ;  yet  how  good  it  is !  Too 
much  is  made  of  the  mystery.  It  is  continually  suggested 
by  sly  hints.  The  opening  sentence  is  exceedingly  clever, 
almost  too  clever.  I  don't  like  my  beloved  Dickens 
getting  clever.    He  is  always  above  that." 

January  9.  "  For  the  life  of  me  I  cannot  recollect 
what  I  did  or  endured  on  this  day.  It  is  one  of  the 
curious  results  of  old  age  that  memory  fails  to  retain 
what  is  near  at  hand.  Were  I  to  be  examined  in  Court 
to-morrow  as  to  what  took  place  this  week  I  could  not 
answer  more  than  one  or  two  questions,  and  that  with 
difficulty.    Yet  if  I  were  told  of  a  single  event  in  any 


ON  GOING  TO  CHURCH  595 

one  of  these  days  I  could  probably  recall  the  whole. 
This  seems  to  prove  that  all  that  happened  is  stored  up 
in  the  brain,  but  that  the  power  to  open  it  is  disabled, 
until  a  key  is  found  which,  being  found,  discloses  all. 
'Tis  an  odd  freak  of  the  brain.  The  soul  retains  all,  but 
the  physical  organ,  being  out  of  gear,  shuts  up  the  soul. 
When,  then,  the  physical  organ  disappears  with  the  body 
at  death,  the  soul,  set  free,  will  exhibit  all  the  events 
and  thoughts,  feelings,  etc.,  of  life  to  consciousness. 
It's  rather  appalling,  and  may  be  strangely  confusing. 
It  holds  in  it  punishment  and  reward." 

January  19.  "  I  don't  leave  the  house  on  Sundays, 
but  cosset  myself  in  my  room.  I  do  not  like  the  Non- 
conformist services.  I  can't  stand  the  extemporary 
prayers,  like  leading  articles  addressed  to  God,  and  when 
they  are  not  like  that,  I  am  always  inwardly  criticizing 
them  (I  can't  help  it),  and  that  attitude  of  mind  is  the 
very  antipodes  of  worship.  And  the  inevitable  personality 
in  the  style,  which  is  so  right  in  a  sermon,  is  undesirable 
in  a  prayer.  It  is  the  minister  who  prays,  not  the  people. 
A  right  public  prayer  is  so  written  that  each  person  can 
fill  up  its  outlines  with  their  own  wants  and  wishes,  and 
at  the  same  time  feel  a  sympathy  with  the  wants  and 
longings  of  the  rest  of  the  congregation.  I  can  find  that 
in  the  Church  of  England  prayers,  but  wherever  I  go 
now  or  have  gone  of  late,  the  prayers  are  so  gabbled 
over,  taken  at  such  railway  speed,  and  so  untouched  by 
any  reverence  or  devotion,  that  it  makes  me  furious.  I 
long  to  fling  the  reader — I  mean  the  machine — out  of  his 
desk.  Yet,  not  to  go  to  Church  is  not  good.  I  think  of 
the  phrase  of  St.  Paul — '  Not  forgetting  the  assembling 
of  yourselves  together,  as  the  manner  of  some  is '  (of 
S.  Brooke,  for  instance) — and  I'm  sure  I  am  wrong  and 
the  Apostle  right." 

Jamianj  21.  '*  I  now  resolve  to  rewrite  all  those  ten 
lectures  [on  Shakespeare's  Plays]  into  another  shape  and 
style.  Of  course,  if  lectures  are  to  be  effective  they  must 
have  their  own  special  style.  And  that  style  is  not 
suited  to  be  read  in  one's  study  chair.  Almost  every 
sentence  has  to  be  reshaped.    A  decent  writer  ought  to 


596    EXTRACTS   FROM  THE    DIARY   OF   1908 

have  at  his  command  at  least  three  styles,  and  when  he 
writes  any  one  style,  a  temper  of  mind,  an  attitude  of 
feeling  corresponding  to  the  style.  Both,  however, 
ought  to  be  simultaneous.  It  is  the  same  in  all  the  arts, 
or  ought  to  be  the  same." 

January  26.  ^^  I  have  been  trying  Ibsen  again,  to  try 
and  discover  in  him  the  amazing  power  of  genius  which 
Bernard  Shaw  sees  in  him ;  and  I  have  read  for  the 
third  time  The  Wild  Duck.  It  were  foolish  to  deny  its 
ability,  its  close,  dissecting  realism,  but  I'm  hanged  if 
I  see  its  humour,  and  the  society  is  unspeakably  sordid 
in  soul.  Old  Werde !  Hialmar  and  his  wife,  the  rowdy 
students  :  what  a  crew  !  What  a  party  is  that  at  Werde's 
house — vulgar  in  every  attitude  of  mind,  in  every 
thought !  Gregers,  the  decent  fellow,  is  an  ass,  and 
there  is  no  real  reason  why  that  poor  child  should  shoot 
herself  in  a  garret,  except  to  give  a  point  to  the  symbolic 
Wild  Duck,  and  that's  not  a  dramatic  motive.  If  to 
hold  the  mirror  up  to  nature  be  the  end  of  the  Drama, 
this  is  a  first-rate  specimen  of  it.  The  portraiture  of  that 
society,  sordid,  mean,  uneducated,  doomed  to  mental  and 
moral  disease,  more  corrupt  than  even  smart  society  is, — 
is  absolutely  clear,  vivid,  and  impressive.  But  it  is  not 
life  we  see,  but  seething  disease,  and  the  Dramatist 
lecturing  upon  it.  He  tears  its  entrails  out  like  a  vulture. 
'Tis  well  done  and  convincing,  but  I  don't  like  it." 

Eastbourne.  February  10.  "  I  enjoyed  the  fresh  and 
eager  air.     It  is  such  a  blessing  to  breathe  something 

different  from  the  bacterial  soup  of  London.    Sir  P. 

came  in  to  tea :  he  was  once  curate  to  LI.  Davies.  Davies, 
he  says,  is  now  eighty  years  of  age,  but  still  hale  and 
his  mind  clear.  I  knew  him  first  in  1859 — some  time 
ago !  His  parish  ran  side  by  side  with  the  parish  I 
served  in  my  first  curacy.  A  thin,  clear-headed  man, 
with  great  reverence  for  Maurice;  a  scholar,  somewhat 
sententious,  but  keen ;  ready  for  battle,  but  courteous 
to  an  adversary." 

February  11.  "  We  passed  the  field  where  the  young 
men  of  the  Rifle  Corps  were  drilling.  I  wished  that 
every  young   fellow,   poor   and   rich,   were   drilled   and 


A   MEMORY   OF   WILLIAM   MORRIS       597 

taught  to  shoot.  I  am  for  universal  teaching  of  this 
kind.  It  is  miserable  to  see  here  the  young  men  slouch- 
ing along,  unable  to  walk  or  run  with  ease,  their  heads 
sunk  on  their  shoulders,  their  limbs  \Yobbling  about  as 
if  they  had  locomotor  ataxis." 

Fehniavji  I'd.  "I  knew  Arnold  and  Morris  well  enough, 
and  was  mixed  up  with  all  the  men  who  lived  and  moved 
with  Morris.  .Burne  Jones  was  my  dear  friend, and  Morris 
I  first  knew  in  1867,  forty  years  ago.  I  met  him  first  at 
a  dinner  given  by  Colvin.  He  didn't  care  for  parsons, 
and  he  glared  at  me  when  I  said  something  about  good 
manners.  Leaning  over  the  table,  with  his  eyes  set,  and 
his  fist  clenched,  he  shouted  at  me,  '  I  am  a  boor,  and 
a  son  of  a  boor.'  As  he  meant  to  be  rude,  I  was  exces- 
sively polished.  *  I  couldn't  have  behoved  it,'  I  said. 
Afterwards  he  was  always  harmonious.  There  never 
lived  a  truer  man.  Some  day  I  must  put  down  a  number 
of  stories  of  his  talks  with  me.  All  this  made  the  writing 
of  the  Essay  on  his  poetry  ^  more  interesting  to  me  than 
any  of  the  others. 

"  Walked  with  E.  to  the  Fort.  A  lovely  day  with  the 
Spring  longing  in  the  air,  and  the  sense  that  a  rush  of 
life  was  coming.  The  sea  curved  in  on  the  sand  in 
charming  little  waves.  The  sand,  wet  with  the  creeping 
waters,  took  every  reflection  into  its  apparent  depths. 
The  wind  was  half  soft,  half  keen,  and  the  sound  of  the 
sea  was  everywhere." 

Fchruani  14.  "  Read  Leslie  Stephen  on  Kingsley — a 
good  essay,  but  not  enough  in  sympathy  with  Kingsley's 
type  to  be  quite  fair.  He  tries  hard  for  fairness,  and 
says  many  wise  and  just  things  of  K.,  but  it  is  plain  that 
K.  irritates  L.  S.  And  I  don't  wonder,  K.  screams 
often  when  he  ought  to  speak.  All  his  books  scream. 
If  he  tells  you  it  is  five  o'clock,  it  seems  as  if  it  were  the 
last  hour  of  the  world.  I  only  met  him  once  at  Lady 
Airlie's  in  a  garden  party.  A  keen,  keen  face  like  a 
sword,  and  a  body  thinned  out  to  a  lath,  a  quick,  rushing 
walk,  and  deep-set  eyes  and  a  long-lipped  mouth. 
J.  R.  Green  met  him  at  Macmillan's.     '  After  dinner,' 

>  In  the  volume,  "  Four  Poets,"  1908. 


598    EXTRACTS  FROM  THE   DIARY  OF   1903 

said  G.,  *  he  marched  up  and  down  the  room  hke  a 
restless  anmial,  shoutmg  out  about  the  Hvmg  God.' " 

February  15.  "  Leshe  Stephen's  Essays  are  too  cold, 
but  he  realizes  this  and  tries  to  avoid  it.  He  recognizes 
the  need  of  warmth  and  works  for  it,  but  his  nature  is 
too  strong  for  him.  Yet  all  he  says  is  carefully  thought, 
and  well  supported ;  and  whenever  good  thinking  is  all 
that  is  to  be  applied  in  criticism,  few  better  or  more 
interesting  criticisms  have  been  written.  The  Bronte 
Essay  is  excellent,  save  when  he  speaks  of  the  passion  in 
their  writing.  For  my  part  I  am  glad  to  see  some 
sensible  views  taken  of  Jane  Eyre  and  Shirley  and  ViUette 
and  Wuthering  Heights.  With  all  the  splendour,  in  parts, 
of  their  imaginative  qualities,  there  is  a  terrible  taint  of 
vulgarity.  Rochester  is  vulgar,  so  are  the  Moores,  both 
of  them,  so  even  is  St  John.  Jane  is  saved  from 
vulgarity  by  being  Charlotte  Bronte  herself.  Caroline 
is  not  vulgar,  but  then  she  also  is  Charlotte.  Shirley  is 
quaintly  vulgar  at  times.  Villette  is  far  the  best  of  the 
lot.  Paul  Emmanuel  is  a  gentleman — a  delightful  person, 
and  indeed  Lucy  Snowe  is  worthy  of  his  love,  but  when 
she  is  in  contact  with  that  horror  whose  name  I  forget, 
she  is  touched  with  her  vulgarity.  But  in  all  cases,  the 
vulgarity  is  not  in  Charlotte  herself,  but  in  the  fact  that 
she  is  drawing  characters  in  a  society  which,  as  she  had 
no  experience  of  it,  she  is  forced  to  invent  out  of  her 
prejudices.  The  S.W.  wind  is  blowing  to-day,  and  rolling 
in  a  very  decent  sea.  I  love  to  hear  the  roar  of  it  fill  the 
vault  of  cloud." 

London.  February  19,  "  I  took  up  again  Shaw's 
Quintessence  of  Ibsen.  It  is  clever,  but  if  he  is  to  write 
philosophy,  he  must  define  in  what  sense  he  uses  his 
terms.  I  can't  make  out  quite  what  he  means  by  idealism. 
What  he  is  really  attacking  is  false  idealism.  The  ideals 
— as  he  calls  them — prevalent  in  society  are  not  ideals 
at  all,  but  false  conceptions  of  life,  of  morals,  and  of 
religion.  Of  their  very  nature  they  are  transient, 
changing  from  age  to  age.  But  the  true  ideals  are  by 
their  nature  eternal,  unchangeable,  beyond  the  shadows." 

February  20.     **  Night  on  the  Serpentine  is  always 


"MAN   AND   SUPEKMAN"  599 

attractive,  and  I  looked  down  the  blue  water,  fringed  with 
lights,  and  glancing  here  and  there  as  if  a  spirit  rose  for 
a  moment  to  the  surface,  to  the  high  lamps  of  the  West- 
minster Tower,  underneath  which  a  nation's  gabble  was 
pretending  to  govern,  and  thought  how  still  the  silence 
was  of  the  water,  and  what  power  it  had.  Not  a  passer- 
by but  felt  an  impulse,  a  waft  of  thought  from  it,  each 
according  to  his  own  soul.  It  did  more  work  in  an  hour 
than  Parliament  did  in  a  week.  And  then  I  saw  on  the 
bridge  two  figures  leaning  over  the  parapet  more  than 
thirty  years  ago,  and  heard  what  they  said." 

February  21.  "  Read  at  night  Man  and  Superman.  I 
dare  say  Shaw  thinks  it  the  best  thing  he  has  done. 
I  don't.  It  is  long-winded  to  amazement  It's  just  a 
*  Common-place  Book '  into  which  he  has  Hung  pell-mell 
all  his  freaks  and  fancies  and  thoughts  and  games  about 
society;  and  man  and  woman  both  in  capital  letters. 
Ann's  character  is  the  best  thing  in  it,  and  is  admirably 
done.  I  know  those  soft  cats,  who  purr  you  out  of  exist- 
ence.    Dynamite  is  the  only  thing  for  them." 

February  22.  "  I  have  ceased  to  wonder  at  anything 
in  men  and  women.  My  wonder  is  exhausted.  What  is 
natural  (that  is,  what  occurs  in  human  nature)  beats  what 
is  called  the  supernatural  out  of  the  fi.eld.  Or  there's 
nothing  supernatural  at  all.  Huxley  came  pretty  near 
to  saying  that." 

February  26.  "  Thirty  years  ago  I  preached  on  the 
Education  Question,  and  said  there  was  only  one  solution 
— that  all  State  Education  should  be  secular,  but  should 
call  on  the  Churches  and  the  Sects  to  take  care  of  the 
religious  education,  and  pay  for  it  themselves.  It  is  the 
least  the  Church  can  do :  it  is  the  most  the  Sects  can  do. 
And  I  should  open  the  State  Schools  and  rooms  for  the 
use  of  Church  and  Sects  at  stated  hours.  That  much  I 
should  grant  them.  And  I  believe  we  shall  come  to  that 
in  the  end.  0  how  badly,  how  meanly,  the  Church  has 
systematical!}^  behaved  throughout,  without  one  break  of 
decent  conduct,  in  this  matter — always  trying  to  evade 
its  just  responsibilities,  always  whining  for  money,  always 
hating  to  spend  a  farthing  it  desires  to  get  out  of  the 

VOL.    II.  R 


600    EXTRACTS   FROM   THE   DIARY  OF   1908 

people !  I  thank  God  I  got  rid  of  the  stain  of  the 
Church." 

March  2.  "  Sir  David  Gill  was  there  [a  dinner-party 
at  Mrs  J.  R.  Green's].  He  reminded  me  that  he  and 
Sam.  Smiles  used  every  Sunday  to  walk  from  Kensington 
to  hear  me  at  St  James'  Chapel.  His  arc  of  meridian, 
to  be  measured  from  Cairo  to  the  Cape,  approaches 
completion.  It  has  got  as  far  north  as  Lake  Tanganyika, 
and  is  to  be  met  by  his  friend  working  south  from  Cairo." 

March  8.  "  Potts  told  a  story  which  he  said  Lamb 
told,  or  rather  invented.  On  his  way  to  the  India  House 
Lamb  met  Coleridge  who,  eager  about  some  metaphysical 
matter,  drew  him  by  the  button  into  an  archway,  and 
sailed  on  in  his  speech,  but  Lamb,  due  at  the  India 
House,  slipt  away.  Returning  some  hours  after,  he  saw 
Coleridge  in  the  same  archway,  holding  on  to  a  nail  in 
the  door,  and  speaking  in  a  continuous  drone  on  the 
same  subject  as  before.  I  had  never  heard  this,  but  I 
have  no  doubt  it  exists  somewhere.  I  don't  believe  it, 
but  it's  a  good  invention." 

March  12.  *'  Shaw  is  a  real  dramatist — in  his  own 
way — and  that  way  differs  from  the  drama.  His  dramas 
have  no  regular  plot,  etc.  They  begin  to  represent  the 
life  of  a  number  of  people — say  on  Wednesday,  and  go 
on  representing  their  life  with  its  ins  and  outs  during 
Thursday,  Friday,  Saturday — up  to  any  date  he  pleases 
— and  then  he  breaks  off,  representing  them  no  more. 
There's  no  real  beginning,  no  conclusion.  It  is  just  a 
slice  out  of  life.  But  underneath  it  is  a  representation 
of  some  problem  or  other,  or  the  confrontation  of  two  or 
three  problems,  and  of  Shaw's  views  of  them,  And  the 
stage-craft  is  excellent." 

March  13,  "  Settled  books  all  the  morning.  This  is 
now  Evelyn's  work  and  mine.  Everything  else  is  sub- 
ordinated to  it.  It  scarcely  seems  worth  while  at  my  age 
to  settle  them,  but  I  think  of  my  posterity  whom  it  will 
help,  and  perhaps  I  may  live  a  few  years  longer.  At 
any  rate,  it  is  the  wisest  thing  to  do — to  believe  in  con- 
tinual life.  Otherwise  one  would  get  languid,  and  ask 
too  much  that  most  foolish  of  all  questions — Is  life  worth 


THE  ONE   THING   NEEDFUL  601 

living  ?  Of  course  it  is  not  worth  living,  if  one  has  the 
temper  which  can  ask  the  question." 

March  14.  "  I've  read  the  Metropolis,  an  account  of 
smart  society  or  rather  millionaire  society  in  New  York. 
If  the  half  of  it  is  true,  it  would  be  a  really  good  thing  if 
the  earth  were  to  open  and  swallow  them  all  up,  with  all 
their  riches.  Incredible  vulgarity  is  the  first  element  in 
that  society.  It  is  not  society  at  all.  All  that  wealth 
should  be  in  the  hands  of  the  State  and  directed  by 
honest  men.  As  it  is,  it  makes  dishonest  men.  Dis- 
honour is  its  essence.  x\nd  the  worst  of  it  is  that  the 
poor  souls  who  possess  this  wealth  cannot  help  becoming 
bad.  Not  a  single  thing  they  do  seems  reproductive.  It 
is  wealth  consuming  wealth." 

March  16.  "  I've  dispersed  all  the  Old  English  books 
— all  the  books  on  Chaucer— all  oji  Shakespeare.  I  had 
better  now  dispose  of  all  those  on  Science,  which  fill 
many  shelves.  Long  since,  I  gave  away  all  the  Theo- 
logical books.  What  do  I  want  with  these  now  ?  Chaucer 
himself  and  Shakespeare  are  enough  for  me,  without  com- 
mentaries. Physics  has  changed  its  form.  Darwinism 
has  developed  into  novel  ways.  Geology  and  Astronomy 
I  still  love  :  they  take  me  into  infinities.  The  theological 
struggles  are  nothing  to  me.  What  is  '  Modernism  '  but 
the  old  thing  we  went  through  in  the  sixties  in  a  shape 
very  little  changed,  and  in  the  Roman,  not  the  English 
Church?     An  intellectual,  not  a  spiritual  strife." 

March  30.  "  Read  the  Hibbert  Journal.  Two  articles 
by  Americans  in  it.  Curious,  splashy  style  in  which 
they  write.  A  quarter  of  a  page  is  dull,  like  a  smooth 
water.  Then  the  writer  flings  into  the  water  a  great 
flat  stone,  and  there  is  a  wild,  tremendous  splash  of  a 
sentence  which  makes  the  reader  jump,  then  another 
flat  half-page,  then  another  splash.  .  .  , 

"  People  forget  that  '  Unum  est  necessarium,'  and 
only  one.  And  I  observe  that  this  One  thing,  which  is 
Love,  which  does  not  belong  to  the  intellectual  world  at 
all,  is  not  dwelt  on  in  any  of  these  papers." 

April  8.  "  1  did  not  go  to  Holman  Hunt's  birthday 
dinner,  to  which  his  friends  of  forty  and  fifty  years  were 


602    EXTKACTS   FROM   THE   DIARY  OF   1908 

asked.  He  wanted  me  to  come,  but  I  was  not  well 
enough.  I  knew  him  first  in  /61  or  /62,  I  forget  which. 
He  lived  next  door  to  me  at  Kensington.  I  used  often  to 
go  in  at  night  and  sit  and  smoke  with  him  for  hours, 
and  I  heard  there  the  greater  part  of  the  stories  about 
Palestine  he  tells  in  his  Life.  His  hair  and  beard 
were  golden  then,  but  he  talked  exactly  as  he  talks 
now." 

A2ml  10.  "  I've  been  thinking  about  my  sermons  at 
[Manchester  College],  Oxford.  But  there's  no  use  in 
thinking.  The  best  thing  is  to  write  at  once,  and  then 
thought  is  worth  something.  It  gets  shaped.  But  when 
one  thinks,  at  least  when  I  think,  without  a  pen  or 
pencil,  thoughts  drift  aimlessly  about,  and  become  a 
worry,  till  I  feel  inclined  to  say  with  Webster — '  There's 
nothing  of  such  infinite  trouble  as  a  man's  own  thoughts.' 
And  then  there  is  always  the  knowledge  at  the  back  of 
the  mind  that  the  secret  of  life  is  not  in  thinking,  but 
in  loving.  If  only  one  could  always  feel  and  know  that, 
one  would  be  freed  from  the  needless,  obtrusive  worry  of 
thoughts." 

"  Que  ne  puis-Je  endormir  par  mon  cceur  ma  pensee  !  " 
May  5.  "Dined  with  the  Verneys.  Met  old  Lady 
Trevelyan  and  recalled  to  her  when  I  last  saw  her,  and 
lunched  with  her  and  Sir  Charles  on  our  way  to 
Bamborough.  I  was  with  the  Howards  and  Costa,  I 
forget  in  what  year,  but  I  remember  the  expedition  very 
well,  even  to  minute  detail.  Met  also  two  Bishops  and  a 
Parson,  and  Alice  Green.  I  was  glad  to  meet  Percival, 
whom  I  have  always  admired.  The  type  of  his  refined 
face  is  of  a  similar  type  to  that  of  Martineau's.  I  told 
his  wife,  whom  I  took  in  to  dinner,  that  I  had  never  seen 
him  before,  but  after  dinner  he  recalled  to  me  my  having 
gone  with  him  and  Sidgwick  from  Paris  to  Switzerland 
in  ancient  days.  I  could  not  remember  it,  and  said  so. 
The  talk  I  had  with  him  after  dinner  was  somewhat 
intimate.  Then  I  had  a  long  talk  with  Stubbs,  the 
Bishop  of  Truro,  who  described  his  despair  at  find- 
ing himself,  after  associating  for  fifteen  years  with  a 
Cathedral  like  Ely,  in  association  with  a  Cathedral  such 


PRAGMATISM  603 

as  Truro.     He  has  a  sturdy,  intelligent,  firm  face,  good 
grey  eyes  and  a  spade  beard." 

May  10.  ' '  Asked  Jacks  how  William  James  was  getting 
on.  He  is  lecturing  on  Pragmatism  [at  Oxford],  and  the 
hall  at  Manchester  College  was  so  full  that  they  have  taken 
the  Examination  Hall  for  him.  J.  explained  to  me  what 
Pragmatism  was,  and  I  listened  like  a  three-year  child. 
That  mariner  had  his  will.  All  these  philosophic  theories 
which  attempt  to  go  down  to  the  roots  of  things,  to  the 
Mothers,  as  Goethe  called  them,  become  inconceivably 
vague  when  they  have  descended  a  certain  way.  Why 
do  not  men  stay  in  the  simple,  among  the  true  things 
which  are  known — in  loving,  for  example.  There  one 
can  feel  and  think  and  act,  sure  of  our  ground,  clear  of 
its  rightness.  Why  weary  life  and  thought  with  seeking 
what  cannot  be  found  out  ?  Yet  it  is  pursuit,  and  pur- 
suit is  healthy,  and  boredom  at  least  is  avoided.  And  it 
is  well  to  seek  the  illimitable.  It  makes  us  feel  that  we 
are  illimitable.  Still,  still  Horace  has  a  good  deal  of  right 
on  his  side : 

"  '  quid  seternis  minorem 

consiliis  animum  fafcigas  ?  '  " 

Oo:ford.  May  25.  "  Cloudy  morning.  Wrote  letters  ; 
walked  in  garden,  enjoying  the  tulips.  Came  home  by 
six  o'clock.  Read  '  Red  Morn '  in  train.  Nothing  else, 
except  that  a  splendid  mass  of  angry  purple  cloud  came, 
while  we  were  in  the  train,  surging  up  from  the  south-east, 
and  under  it  a  pale  yellow  rainy  band,  both  menacing. 
I  tried  to  fashion  and  fasten  it  in  my  memory,  to  use  it 
in  a  picture.  I  remember  these  aspects  of  nature  far 
better  than  I  remember  books.  I  love  the  talk  of  a 
stream  more  than  any  poetry,  and  the  mists  on  a 
mountain  shoulder  more  than  any  picture,  and  the 
sound  of  the  wind  in  the  forest  more  than  a  Sonata  of 
Beethoven,  and  the  building  of  a  mountain  like  Snowdon 
more  than  any  Cathedral  in  the  world.  Yet  one  wants 
humanity,  and  one  leaves  Nature  for  man.  'Tis  no  bad 
thing,  however,  when  one  is  with  Nature,  to  have  the 
power  to  de-humanize  one's  self.  In  big  cities  one  is 
de-natured,   and   over-humanized.      We   need   both — to 


604    EXTRACTS   FROM  THE  DIARY  OF   1908 

mingle  together  love  of  nature  and  of  man,  to  pass  them 
through  and  through  one  another,  till  they  form  one 
element  in  us,  each  incessantly  suggesting  and  explain- 
ing the  other.  Neither  one  nor  the  other  should  stand 
alone  in  the  arts,  especially  in  poetry.  When  a  man 
ceases  to  love  nature,  his  love  of  man  grows  too  intel- 
lectual, loses  high  emotion  towards  the  7vhole  race  of 
man,  loves  only  his  own  clique  or  sect.  When  a  man 
ceases  to  love  his  fellow,  he  loses  slowly  his  ardour  in 
love  of  nature :  he  ceases  to  see  beneath  it  life  and  love. 
His  love  of  nature  tends  to  become  love  of  nature  as  an 
object  of  analysis.  He  finally  loves  it  as  an  experimenter 
loves  the  dog  he  vivisects." 

Jujie  6.  "I  am  greatly  troubled  about  Ned  [Major 
General  Brooke].  Even  if  he  escape  now,  I  do  not  see 
how  he  is  to  last  the  winter.  We  have  been  so  close 
together,  so  very  close,  in  such  unbroken  love,  that  to 
lose  him  is  to  lose  a  great  part  of  my  being.  Yet,  only 
here — he  will  not  be  lost  to  me.  I  shall  see  and  know 
him  again ;  and  William  will  welcome  him.  But  I,  who 
ought  to  have  gone  before  them,  will  stay  behind,  and  I 
must  feel  the  loneliness  of  their  absence.  When  one 
lives  long,  so  much  is  taken  away,  and  whether  death 
becomes  less  or  more  disagreeable  by  these  removals  I 
cannot  tell  now.  It  certainly  seems  nearer  and  more 
inevitable.  Yet,  even  now,  it  is  most  difficult  to  person- 
ally realize  it.     I  feel  so  curiously,  so  intensely  alive." 

June  7.  "  Preached  to  a  large  congregation  [at 
Hampstead]— a  little  surprised  at  Gow  ^  so  fully  agreeing 
with  me  that  the  power  the  Unitarians  wanted  was  a 
greater  personal  love  of  Christ.  'Oh,  not  only  they,' 
said  I,  '  but  all  of  us,  all  the  world.'  " 

June  8.  "  I  finished  Gosse's  book — Father  and  Son. 
Much  of  his  experience  was  also  mine.  It  is  a  human 
document,  and  excellently  written.  I  question  whether 
it  was  quite  good  taste  to  use  up  his  Father  as  a  literary 
property,  but  it  is  done  with  affection  and  reverence  as 
with  a  certain  gentle  malice.  Malice  is  perhaps  too 
strong  a  word." 

^  The  Bev.  Henry  Gow,  minister  of  Rosslyn  Hill  Chapel,  Hampstead. 


CHRISTIANITY   IN   AFRICA  605 

June  10.  "  In  the  morning  I  began  my  sermon  and 
wrote  a  little  of  it,  planning  the  rest,  or  rather  I  am 
rewriting  an  old  sermon,  planning  the  changes  I  should 
make  in  it.  It  is  on  one  of  those  sayings  which  I  call 
the  *  Asides  of  Christ ' — things  said  as  it  were  to  Him- 
self without  any  hope  that  the  Apostles  would  understand 
Him,  little  personal  phrases,  in  which  His  inner,  vaster, 
or  His  piteous  thought  came  to  the  surface  for  a  moment ; 
like — 'I  have  a  baptism  to  be  baptized  with,  how  am  I 
straitened  till  it  be  accomplished ! '  There  are  not  a  few 
of  such  sayings,  and  to  write  a  series  of  sermons  on  them 
would  be  interesting." 

June  11.  "  Dr  Blyden  ^  called  in  this  morning.  His 
hair  is  now  a  sable-silvered,  and  his  face  has  grown 
stronger,  his  manner  more  at  home  with  itself.  He  was 
almost  anti-Christian  in  his  talk,  not  against  Christ,  but 
against  English  Christianity  as  it  is  imported  into  Africa. 
Wherever  we  and  our  Christianity  come,  he  declares,  the 
native  races  are  wiped  out  as  with  a  sponge,  and  the  con- 
verted negro  is  a  thief,  a  drunkard,  or  a  sneak.  Maho- 
metanism  is,  he  says,  the  religion  for  the  African.  It 
does  not  interfere  with  polygamy  which  keeps  the  race 
chaste  and  physically  strong,  and  it  does  not  permit 
drink.  He  had  been  at  a  great  festival  in  the  interior 
where  more  than  200,000  men  and  women  were  gathered 
together,  and  not  only  was  there  no  drunkenness  and  no 
riot,  but  not  a  drop  of  drink  was  allowed." 

Jul//  3.  "  Took  Mrs  De  Morgan  in  to  dinner,  and  ex- 
changed experiences  about  conscious  detachment  from 
the  body.  A  small  quantity  of  opium  does  that  for  me. 
I  see  my  body  stretched  out  below  me  while  I  am  in  the 
air  above  it,  capable  of  going  away.  Mrs  De  Morgan 
has  like  experiences  without  any  drug.  It  is  some  years 
since  I  had  seen  De  Morgan,  and  since  then  he  has 
become  a  famous  novelist.  He  welcomed  me  warmly — 
we  had  both  been  part  of  a  coterie,  nearly  all  the  mem- 
bers of  which  are  dead,  and  memory  brought  us  close. 
We  talked  of  E.  B.  J.  and  Morris,  and  many  others.  I 
did  not  ask  him  about  his  novels,  for  I  have  not  read 

'  A  native  gentleman  from  Liberia. 


606    EXTRACTS   FROM   THE   DIAEY  OF   1908 

them.  They  are  too  long  for  me.  He  is  writing  another 
now,  in  which  there  is  to  be  a  parson." 

October  29.  "  Went  to  see  Edward.  .  .  .  The  walk 
across  the  Park  was  very  pleasant.  I  love  these  late 
auftimnal  evenings  in  Kensington  Gardens,  when  the 
faint  blue  mist  lies  low  on  the  water,  and  the  birds  cry 
in  it  like  ghosts.  A  thin  sickle  of  a  moon  hung  over  the 
church  spire,  ruddy  gold  in  the  purple  sky,  and  an  even- 
ing out  of  the  long  past  seemed  to  flood  into  me  and  fill 
my  being  full.  These  slow,  quiet,  decaying  evenings — 
what  a  power  they  have !  They  belong  to  the  spirit,  and 
move  it  like  music." 

October  30.     "  Mrs came  to  see  me.     I  tried  to 

keep  her  off  the  Woman  Suffrage  subject,  but  she  rushed 
it,  and  talked  of  nothing  else  for  forty  minutes,  till,  had 
she  not  been  my  friend,  I  should  have  been  bored  to 
death.  It  is  what  these  suffragists  are  foolishly  doing 
to  the  whole  country,  and  especially  to  the  House  of 
Commons — a  fatal  mistake,  since  they  can  only  get  the 
vote  from  the  House  of  Commons,  and  if  the  House 
resents  anything  more  than  another,  it  is  boredom. 

"I've  read  Ellen  Terry's  reminiscences — naive,  not 
self-conscious,  and  interesting." 

November  9.  "  There  have  now  been  two  Adminis- 
trations with  enormous  majorities,  and  there  is,  under 
this  rule,  no  proper  representation.  Parliament  resolves 
itself  into  a  desperate  fight  of  a  small  minority  against  a 
huge  majority,  and  nothing  else  counts  but  this  party 
struggle.  We  want  a  third,  fourth  and  fifth  party  in  the 
Commons.  The  Labour  and  the  Irish  party  are  sub- 
merged at  present,  and  to  give  themselves  some  excite- 
ment, they  are  quarrelling  among  themselves." 

November  10.  "  Walked  into  St  James' Park.  There 
was  a  cruel  east  wind,  and  I  was  pinched  with  cold,  but 
the  view  from  the  bridge  was  full  of  a  strange  beauty. 
It  was  a  misty  evening,  and  in  the  wesb  the  sky  was 
furrowed  with  long  lines  of  roseate  yellow.  Everything, 
the  Towers  of  Westminster,  the  dark  water,  the  sailing 
flocks  of  birds,  the  naked  trees,  the  passers-by,  were  in  a 
mystery  of  chill  blue  vapour,  and  seemed  to  belong  to 


Brooke  in  1901. 

From  a  phntngraph  by  Herbert  Bell,  Ambleside. 

[To  face  page  Q,QQ>. 


HIS  BIRTHDAY  607 

a  world  of  unreal  forces,  of  dreams.  Phantasy  of 
phantasies,  all  is  phantasy,  I  said.  And  the  hoarse, 
wild  crying  of  the  birds  was  accordant  to  the  imaginative 
scene.  It  is  the  autumn  evenings  of  London,  autumn 
edging  into  winter,  which  most  enshrine  the  rare  charm 
of  London  landscape." 

November  14.  "  This  is  my  birthday,  and  I  have  com- 
pleted 76  years  in  this  agreeable  world  where  so  many 
persons  are  disagreeable.  Our  dinner  was  of  twelve — 
myself  and  Evelyn,  CeciP  and  Verona,  Cecilia,  the 
Holroyds,^  Mr  Gow,  B.  Hughes,^  Honor,  Stopford,  and 
Helen  * — a  joyous  party  and  evening.  I  was  greatly 
grieved  at  Edward's  absence,  for  the  second  time,  and 
I  wrote  to  him.  I  hated  to  think  of  him  sitting  alone  in 
his  room,  for  Honor  and  Di — my  sisters — came  in  the 
evening.  Many  gifts  and  letters  and  flowers  came  to 
me,  and  many  wrote  to  me  to  my  surprise.  I  was  glad, 
though  in  hermitage,  to  be  remembered.  Except  for  a 
dislike  to  walking,  a  bad  memory,  a  tendency  to  sleep 
more  than  usual,  and  now  and  then  a  little  nervous 
impatience  which  I  keep  under,  I  do  not  feel  my  age. 
At  some  points  I  wish  I  were  not  so  young.  Gravity 
seems  not  to  come  to  me  at  all.  But  one  thing  is  true 
— I  do  not  care  for  most  of  the  things  which  seem  to 
excite  the  brains  and  passions  of  men.  Controversies 
seem  foolish,  and  the  men  who  are  hot  in  them  foolish 
while  they  are  in  them.  And  Parliament  appears  to  me 
to  be  fighting  always  round  the  circumference  and  along 
the  radii  of  a  subject,  and  never  to  get  to  the  centre. 
Yet  I  know  that  is  the  way  of  man ;  the  way,  and  only 
way,  apparently,  that  things  can  be  done.  It  is  a  foolish 
way,  but  Humanity  is  often  a  thundering  fool." 

•  His  nephew  and  son-in-law,  the  Kev.  Cecil  Welland,  rector  of 
Alderley. 

*  Sir  Charles  and  Lady  Holroyd. 

»  The  painter.  *  Mrs  S.  W.  Brooke. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

EXTRACTS    FROM    THE  DIARY    OF    1909 

London.  January  2.  "  I  feel  solitary  in  my  sub-conscious- 
ness, and  that  solitude  is  a  terror  in  it,  even  if  one  were 
all  good,  much  more  when  one  is  not.  And  if  that  lurk- 
ing thing — the  sub-conscious  life — were  to  emerge  into 
full  light  and  inimical  activity,  where  and  how  would  one 
be  ?  It  does  not  do  to  think  of  it,  but  it  were  wise  to  do 
so.  .  .  .  We  may  drug  conscience  in  our  consciousness, 
but  not  down  below.  It  is  always  there,  crying  *  Qui 
vive  ! '  when  thoughts  pass  by." 

January  11.  "  There's  that  in  me  which  loves  fighting 
for  fighting's  sake,  as  well  as  for  ideas ;  and  it  would  not 
take  long  to  get  into  the  habit  of  not  caring  for  death. 
Like  courage,  it  is  a  habit.  It  is  the  death  in  bed  one 
hates;  yet  that  too  ought  to  be  fearlessly  met.  It  is 
easier  to  die  in  battle  than  in  bed.  Alone  at  night,  lying 
awake,  and  feeling  death  draw  nearer  in  every  pain, 
needs  more  fortitude  than  to  meet  the  Master  of  Ghosts 
among  the  clash  of  swords  and  the  trumpets  and  the 
rush  of  men,  and  the  uplifting  of  the  soul  by  the  ideas 
men  contend  for.  Love  of  one's  leader,  love  of  country, 
love  of  great  Causes  annihilate  fear.  There's  no  fear  in 
love,  perfect  love  casteth  out  fear.  And  to  love  Christ 
well,  and  to  believe  in  His  word  of  life  can,  as  I  have 
known  in  others,  make  the  fear  of  death  into  the  Joy 
of  life." 

Oxford.  February  20.  "  These  philosophers,  like  those 
of  Athens,  maintain,  each  the  ignorance  of  all  the  others, 
and  each  the  futility  of  the  philosophic  schemes  of  the 
others.     And  then  the  whole  body  of  them  maintain  that 


THE   MYTH  IN   THE   PHiEDRUS         609 

philosophy  itself  is  the  loftiest  intellectual  exercise  and 
power  in  the  Universe.  Each  is  wrong,  but  all  are 
right.  Funny  that!  I  always  maintain  that  reading 
and  writing  philosophy  is  a  pleasant  amusement  of  the 
intellect  when  one  is  young.  It  discloses  that  the  Uni- 
verse is  a  secret,  and  that  is  a  good  and  pleasant  thing 
to  know.  It  encourages  pursuit  of  the  unknown,  and 
that  also  is  a  good  thing.  It  leads  nowhere,  and  when 
one  realizes  that,  one  goes  back  to  everyday  life  and  does 
one's  duty,  and  that  also  is  a  good  thing." 

London.  Fchruary  24.  "  Read  two  poems  of  Schiller 
— admirable  concoctions,  but  not  much  more.  I  think 
Goethe,  who  wrote  with  nature  at  his  elbow,  must  surely 
have  felt  the  want  of  naturalness,  of  fountain-feeling  in 
Schiller's  poetry.  I  imagine  he  may  have  hinted  this  to 
S.,  and  I  should  like  to  have  seen  Schiller's  mouth  work 
when  he  felt  the  truth  of  it." 

March  2.  "  I  dabbled  in  oils,  and  read  the  Myth  of 
the  Soul  in  the  Phfedrus.  Plato  makes  the  allegory  too 
close,  not  fluent  enough,  too  little  room^  for  individual 
imagination.  Yet,  how  curiously  vivid  it  is;  how  it  has 
lasted,  how  variously  it  has  influenced  various  literature ; 
with  what  a  perfection  of  language  it  is  written,  so  that 
the  style  alone — even  if  thought  were  absent — would  tell 
on  the  literature  of  mankind !  I  wonder  what  the  young 
bloods  of  Athens  thought  of  it  when  they  read  it  first. 
They  would  say,  '  By  Hercules,  it  is  good,  but  what  has 
it  to  do  with  us  ?  We  will  read  it  to-night  to  Lais  the 
Corinthian,  and  see  what  she  will  say.  Her  maids  will 
smile,  but  she  will  droop  her  eyelids  for  a  moment,  then 
drink  a  welcome  to  us.'  " 

March  7.  " came  to  supper,  and  looked  charm- 
ing, with  a  more  spiritual  look  on  her  face  than  I  ever 
remember  to  have  seen.  It  is  the  new  life  of  Mother- 
hood welling  upwards  into  the  eyes.  These  primeval 
experiences,  these  experiences  which  come  down  into 
human  nature  from  dateless  times,  what  a  force  they 
have.  Infinity  lies  behind  them,  and,  I  believe,  before 
them." 

March  8.    "  Did  a  Psalm  into  verse.    I  read  the  Psalm, 


610    EXTRACTS   FROM  THE   DIARY  OF   1909 

get  into  bed,  switch  off  the  light,  and  by  the  firelight  on 
the  ceiling  playing  pranks,  or  with  my  eyes  shut  towards 
sleep,  make  the  verses  which  I  write  down  next  day.  I 
used  to  do  this  for  Psalms  walking  home  at  8  p.m.  from 
the  Chapel  amid  the  roar  of  Oxford  Street,  and  forget 
the  horrors  of  the  way.  It  is  good  to  go  to  sleep 
with  the  Psalms." 

March  10.  "Read  Mrs  Crackanthorpe's  Letters  of 
Diana  Lady  Chesterfield  with  much  pleasure.  She  has 
really  created  the  Victorian  lady  of  good  society  in  the  fifties 
and  sixties,  well-born,  well-bred,  of  a  fine,  honest,  tender 
character,  but  with  the  prejudices  of  an  aristocrat,  and 
a  cultivated  woman  who  has  known  the  world  for  many 
years.  It  is  an  excellent  sketch.  I  have  met  at  least  a 
dozen  of  her  type ;  and  know  how  true  this  is.  The 
most  telling  characteristic  of  women  of  this  type  was 
their  inebranlable  certainty  of  their  always  being  right. 
Yet  they  were  quite  human,  and  for  the  most  part  moral. 
They  made,  some  of  them,  incursions  into  immoral  lands, 
just  to  see  what  they  were  like,  and  they  considered  they 
were  quite  licensed  to  do  this,  provided  they  kept  their 
manners  always  good  and  what  they  called  their  taste 
uninjured.  But  most  of  them  lived  very  correct  lives, 
but  always  tolerant  ones.  They  were  a  type  apart,  quite 
distinct  in  many  and  clear  ways  from  the  women  of  the 
regency  or  of  the  time  of  Pitt  and  Fox.  They  were 
Victorian,  but  by  no  means  imitations  of  Victoria.  Two 
of  them  at  least  were  intimate  friends  of  mine.  The 
type  changed,  and  not  for  the  better  in  the  seventies. 
They  passed  on  into  it,  but  were  not  of  it ;  and  they  died 
out  by  age." 

March  17.  "We  are  soon,  in  a  few  years,  to  have 
seventeen  Dreadnoughts  in  commission.  They  will  have 
cost  about  two  million  each;  about  thirty-four  million. 
About  eight  hundred  men  is  the  complement  of  each, 
thirteen  thousand  six  hundred  men.  Seventeen  torpedoes 
or  mines  will  destroy  each  of  them  with  their  men  in 
five  minutes.  'Tis  a  wicked  risk  for  decent  governments 
to  run.  The  peoples  ought  to  rise  and  put  an  end  to  it. 
And  they  alone  can  do  it.     But  the  world  is  mad  now. 


VILLAINOUS  HYMNS  611 

If  the  blind  lead  the  blind  shall  not  both  fall  into  the 
ditch  ?    And  that  may  be  the  end  of  it." 

March  21.  "  It  seems  odd  to  me  not  to  go  to  Church 
at  all,  and  I  do  not  think  it  is  good  for  the  soul  to  stay- 
away.  But  I  cannot  stand  the  extemporary  prayers  of 
the  Nonconformists,  nor  the  unconscious  arrogance 
which  sets  the  minister  to  perform  the  acts  of  worship 
which  the  whole  congregation  ought  to  perform.  And 
it  is  equally  difficult  for  me  to  endure  the  abominable 
way  in  which  the  English  Church  Service  is  gabbled,  or 
the  way  in  which  Hymns  Ancient  and  Modern  thrust, 
like  gobbets  of  uncooked  meat,  the  extremest  dogmas 
down  my  throat,  and  the  terrible  follies  and  inanities  of 
the  Hymns  themselves.  To  turn  the  XXIII  Psalm  into 
a  Eucharistic  ravishment  is  shocking  bad  taste  and  vile 
history. 

"  '  And  oh,  what  transports  of  delight 
From  thy  pure  Chalice  flowefch  ; ' 

"  And  for  folly  and  poetic  villainy,  take  this  : 

"  '  Christian,  dost  thou  see  them 
On  the  holy  ground, 
How  the  troops  of  Midian 
Prowl  and  prowl  around  ! '  " 

March  24.  "  The  Navy  Scare  is  dying  down.  I  should 
not  wonder  if  the  Vote  of  Censure  was  withdrawn.  Mean- 
while, things  look  very  black  in  the  Near  East.  War 
will  weaken  Austria.  Russia  is  already  weakened,  and 
Germany  waits  for  Austria's  weakness  to  Germanize 
Austria.  I  wonder  if  William  II  ever  thinks  of  Con- 
stantinople." 

March  25.  "  Most  events  have  dropped  from  me  into 
what  Milton  calls  the  'Vast  Abrupt.'  Could  I  but 
recollect  all  that  I  have  laboured  through  in  the  days 
when  I  was  going  in  and  out  among  men,  I  might  make 
an  interesting  book.  I  have  seen  many  strifes  and  many 
men,  and  all  classes  of  society,  and  my  conviction  now 
is  that  there  is  much  more  of  love  and  goodness  in  the 
world  than  of  hate  and  evil,  though  of  the  latter  I  have 
seen  enough  and  to  spare." 

March  28.   "  I  dreamt  dreams,  full  of  people  who  have 


612    EXTRACTS    FROM   THE   DIARY  OF   1909 

gone  out  of  my  life  for  good,  and  whom  I  had  no  desire 
to  see.  I  can  understand  that  in  sleep  the  brain  should 
reproduce  the  past,  but  I  do  not  understand  that  it  (while 
keeping  the  personages  of  the  past)  should  create  round 
them  a  whole  set  of  new  circumstances,  of  scenes  and 
conversations  which  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  past, 
but  which,  curiously,  preserve  its  atmosphere.  Extra- 
ordinarily vivid,  and  even  uncanny,  were  the  circum- 
stances. There  was  no  ground  for  them  in  the  past. 
They  were  created  out  of  fantasy ;  and  it  is  difficult  to 
explain  how  the  brain  acts  in  this  fashion ;  playing  with 
materials  as  a  dramatist  with  a  tale,  as,  for  example, 
Shakespeare  played  with  the  Hamlet-story." 

Ajnil  6.  "  Lord  Carlisle  [came  in].  It  is  to  Alma 
Tadema,  he  told  me,  that  we  owe  the  riddle — *  When 
is  an  artist  not  an  artist  ? '  He  gave  it  one  day  to 
E.  B.  J.  after  they  had  looked  at  a  number  of  pictures, 
excellent  in  technique,  in  composition  and  in  painting, 
and  found  that  not  one  of  them  had  any  trace  of  an 
individual  soul,  or  emotion.  '  I  give  it  up,'  said  E.  B.  J. ; 
and  Tadema  roared — '  Nine  times  out  of  ten !  '  " 

April  19.  "  Nothing  is  lovelier  than  the  first  rushing 
into  leafage  of  the  trees.  The  green  is  not  only  delicate 
and  exquisite  in  tint,  but  it  possesses,  and  gives  to  the 
sight,  a  tremor  and  spirit  of  youth.  Life  rises  through 
it  in  breathing  joy.  And  it  is  this  deep  sense  of  life, 
re-coming  after  sleep,  always  renewing  itself,  laughing 
at  death,  impossible  to  destroy,  moving,  playing,  repro- 
ducing itself,  and  in  the  spring,  rushing,  which  entering 
into  us,  is  the  secret  cause  of  our  happiness  in  the 
woods  of  May.  We  are  in  contact  with  the  ever-leaping 
fountain  which  springs  far  back  behind  the  Universe, 
and  makes  it  for  ever  new." 

May  2.  "  If  Jowett  had  only  trained  Swinburne  to 
temperance,  if  his  love  of  the  Greek  poets  had  taught 
him  their  finest  power,  the  power  not  to  say  more  than 
necessary,  what  a  poet  he  might  have  been.  But  he  will 
not  live  in  the  common  heart  of  man  ;  he  will  always  be 
read  by  those  who  are  poets  or  nearly  so,  but  by  those 
who  love  quiet,  grave,  noble  things,  weighty  with  thought, 


MOKEIS,  MEREDITH,  SCOTT  613 

suffused  by  natural  feeling — no.  He  will  always  weary 
men  at  last." 

Midlion  Cove.  May  5.  "  Holman  Hunt  sent  me  a  long 
dictated  letter  to-day  on  my  book  on  the  Four  Poets,  with 
many  interesting  things  in  it.  Among  other  matters 
was  a  statement  of  Mary  de  Morgan  about  Morris  when 
he  was  dying.  '  Once,  on  waking  up,'  she  said,  '  after 
a  ruminating  doze,  Morris,  whom  I  was  nursing  in  his 
last  illness,  said,  "  I  can't  but  think  that  somehow  or 
other  we  shall  live  again."  '  " 

London.  May  20.  "  Meredith  has  died,  and  the  papers 
have  been  full  of  his  praise.  Some  write  as  if  he  were 
a  new  Shakespeare,  which  is  foolish ;  but  he  was  a  great 
man,  spoiled  by  a  native  obscurity,  which  he  really 
seemed  of  late,  in  his  literary  life,  to  cherish  and  cosset 
as  if  it  were  an  excellence.  It  is  easy  to  be  obscure, 
but  there  is  a  certain  difficulty  in  being  as  obscure  as 
Meredith  was,  and  he  liked  that  difficulty,  and  kept  it 
with  him,  as  a  king  keeps  a  jester." 

May  21.  "  The  sun  set  among  the  trees  in  a  wildered 
glory  of  gold  and  crimson ;  but  I  was  too  tired,  and  my 
leg  too  troublesome  to  enjoy  it.  It  is  a  shame  when  the 
body  prevents  enjoyment  of  the  world.  Those  do  better 
who  give  in  to  the  body,  and,  without  resisting,  take 
pleasure  in  the  natural  world  when  it  is  beautiful.  There 
is  plenty  of  time,  when  Nature  ne  se  jmvanc  jxis,  to  do  the 
resisting  business.  Yet,  the  lovely  thing  we  see  in  pain, 
and  do  not  then  enjoy,  returns  to  the  inner  vision  hours 
afterwards,  as  this  sunset  does  now,  and  is  enjoyed  in 
peace.  A  sub-consciousness  has  taken  it  in,  and  repro- 
duces it.     It  is  like  chewing  the  cud." 

July  18.  "  'I  am  shunted,'  I  said  to  Jacks  who  was 
here  yesterday.  '  If  you  are,  it  is  your  own  doing,'  he 
said,  '  the  world  has  not  shunted  you.'  And,  perhaps, 
he  is  right.  At  least,  this  year  I  have  not  only  retired 
from  society  to  a  greater  degree  than  before,  but  I  have 
avoided  doing  any  literary  work,  and  have  only  preached 
about  ten  times.     And  I  don't  seem  to  care." 

Bavcno.  Septemher  23.  "  Read  Guy  Mannering.  I 
like  Scott's  natural  descriptions  better  than  the  modern 


614    EXTRACTS   FROM   THE   DIARY  OF   1909 

ones ;  but  I  suspect  that  half  of  my  liking  consists  in 
their  being  so  different  in  manner  and  phrasing  from  the 
luxurious  reportings  of  nature  by  the  later  novelists.  All 
the  same,  his  choice  and  use  of  words  is  often  that  of 
genius,  and,  in  spite  of  what  we  might  call  a  formality 
in  his  style,  a  sudden  adjective,  a  sudden  phrase-  one 
cannot  tell  why — brings  the  whole  scene  into  the 
imaginative  eye." 

London.  October  14.  "  This  year  is  nothing  but  a 
record  of  small  illness,  and  it  disgusts  me.  There  are 
intervals  of  health  during  which  je  sens  fortement  V exist- 
ence^ and  love  my  life,  but  they  are  brief.  Man  muss 
enthehren,  but  it  is  difficult  to  renounce  all  hope  of  con- 
tinuous health.  To  acquiesce  ! — there  lies,  perhaps,  peace, 
peace  within,  but  I  cannot  tell.  I  have  not  yet  acquiesced. 
It  is  the  common  lot — to  decay— but  that  it  is  common, 
nay,  that  it  is  law,  does  not  make  it  agreeable.  And  if  one 
acquiesces  too  much,  one  loses  animation,  energy,  life, 
and  all  one  does  is  to  hurry  up  decay.  Better  to  be 
indignant  and  to  fight  to  the  end." 

October  17.  "  I  read  Schopenhauer  with  much  enter- 
tainment. He  was  grimly  in  earnest  in  his  loathing  of 
our  whole  life,  but  it  was  so  ferocious  that  it  made  me 
laugh.  Whatever  the  world  may  be,  it  is  not  absolute 
blackness.  It's  black  enough,  but  there's  plenty  of  pure 
colour,  and  even  if  the  main  element  be  suffering,  the 
picture  is  grey  not  black." 

October  22,.  "  Read  Schopenhauer  on  Loi^c.  Very  dull, 
waste  of  time.  ...  I  don't  suppose  the  poor  fellow  ever 
saw  or  heard  a  beautiful,  clever  woman  move  or  dress  or 
speak  or  smile  or  turn  a  loving  eye  upon  him.  I  think 
all  philosophers  live  on  the  circumference  of  humanity. 
On  one  side  of  their  narrow  seat  they  see  the  scum  of 
humanity  bobbing  by  their  feet  and  analyse  it.  On  the 
other  side  of  them  is  the  Neant  into  which  they  and 
their  theories  will  tumble  in  a  few  years." 

October  30.  "  Read  the  Glimpse  by  Arnold  Bennett — 
a  remarkable  story  or  rather  fantasia  on  the  theme  of  the 
world  after  death — the  main  motive  of  which  is  my  own, 

'  "  Emma's  favourite  phrase."     See  p.  104. 


MORLEY'S   LIFE   OF   GLADSTONE        615 

that  till  one  has  the  power,  through  love,  of  living  out  of 
oneself  in  all  life,  one  never  knows,  one  never  even  sees, 
happiness  or  power  or  life.  The  book  is  full  of  interesting 
thoughts.  Went  on  with  Gladstone's  Life  which  I  am 
reading  for  the  second  time.  I  had  not  realized  before 
how  admirably  Morley  had  done  the  book.  Out  of  the 
vast,  heterogeneous  material — vast  as  a  mountain — to 
choose  the  best,  the  most  illuminating  things ;  to  com- 
press these  into  short  chapters  each  knotted  at  the  end, 
to  make  each  chapter  illustrate  the  man,  and  to  place  the 
man  in  his  surroundings  so  that  he  is  apart  from  them 
and  of  them — was  a  Herculean  task,  and  he  did  it,  and 
apparently  with  ease,  which  itself  is  a  wonder." 

October  31.  "  Mrs  Dalton  has  sent  me  two  books  of 
poems  by  a  Canadian  called  Service  who  has  made  a 
great  reputation  by  them  in  Canada.  They  are  inspired 
by  ICipling,  but  they  are  original  because  the  spirit  of 
Canada — that  vital,  rugged,  impassioned  belief  in  the 
country  and  the  people,  is  in  them.  They  have  swing 
and  reality  and  force,  and  their  eye  is  close  to  their 
subjects.     Jacks  ought  to  like  them." 

November  2.  "  Gerald  Lawrence  told  his  cabman  story. 
He  had  burst  into  wrath  with  the  cabman  half-way  to 
his  destination  and  amused  himself  by  using  all  the 
swear-words  he  could  remember  out  of  Shakespeare's 
plays.  When  he  took  out  money  to  pay  the  man,  he  was 
surprised  by  the  cabman  saying  he  would  not  have  his 
fare — *  he  had  been  paid  in  full.'  '  Nonsense,  man,  here 
is  your  fare  and  more.'  '  No,  Sir,  not  a  farthing.  You 
have  given  me  at  least  five  new  words  of  the  greatest  use 
to  a  cabby.     I'm  more  than  paid.'  " 

November  3.  "  Were  I  in  politics  I  would  put  on  the 
whole  armour  of  battle,  and  draw  the  sword  and  fight  as 
unrelentingly  as  I  could,  without  one  word  of  compromise. 
Diplomacy  is  over.  Who  is  to  govern  this  country — in 
finance — Lords  or  Commons  ?  " 

November  4.    "  Saw  a  portrait  [of  a  wife  made  by  her 

husband].     Curious  that  husband-artists  never  seem  to 

be  able  to  paint  their  wives  well.     Were  I  a  husband  I 

should  always  paint  my  wife  from  memory  and  as  the 

VOL.  II.  a 


616    EXTRACTS   FROM   THE   DIARY  OF   1909 

centre  of  an  imagined  subject.  Then  I  should  get  hold 
of  the  real  woman.  But,  as  she  sits  there  in  front  of 
him,  the  more  he  looks  at  her  the  less  his  soul  sees  of 
her  soul ;  and  he  makes  the  terrible  mistake  of  painting 
what  his  eyes  see — a  quite  different  thing  from  what  he 
carries  in  his  heart." 

November  13.  "It  is  a  pity  rightness  is  so  relative 
and  that  wrongness  has  so  great  a  tendency  to  become 
almost  absolute  when  it  is  constantly  done.  One  sees 
the  force  of  this  in  those  painters  who,  while  they  take 
different  subjects,  execute  them  in  an  identical  manner. 
And  it  is  just  the  same  with  immoral  action.  The 
manner  and  the  act  are  finally  believed  to  be  right  when 
they  have  become  wrong.  And  the  only  chance  of 
getting  rid  of  the  wrong  lies  in  its  wearing  itself  out  by 
lapse  of  time.  It  first  becomes  indifferent,  then  tyrannic, 
then  it  ceases  to  give  pleasure  and  finally  it  is  hated. 
That  is  never  the  case  with  the  good,  the  right  thing. 
It  lasts,  it  always  gives  pleasure,  and  finally  it  is  loved. 
And  best  of  all,  whenever  it  is  done,  it  suggests  a  higher 
good,  a  greater  pleasure,  and  in  ensuring  pursuit,  ensures 
progress." 

Decemher  14.  "  Beaumont  Street  is  not  a  lively  site. 
I  used,  almost  daily,  to  be  in  and  out  of  Green's  rooms 
there.  It  was  there  I  brought  him  back  the  proofs  of 
the  first  chapter  of  the  Short  History  and  told  him  that 
the  style  would  not  do.  It  was  the  style  of  the  Saturday 
Reviewer.  '  Put  more  dignity  into  it,'  I  said,  '  or  no 
one  will  believe  it  is  history.'  He  was  greatly  depressed 
in  those  days.  I  told  him  I  was  certain  of  a  huge  success 
for  his  book.  '  There  are  thousands,  like  myself,'  I 
said,  '  who  really  know  nothing  of  English  History,  and 
who  do  not  care  to  read  about  it.  This  book  will  lure 
them  into  caring  and  open  a  new  world  to  them.  It  is 
not  annals;  it  is  human,  etc.,  etc'  Oh,  what  a  lot  of 
keeping  up  he  needed  in  those  days." 

Decemher  20.  "  The  sky  was  full  of  colour,  the '  clouds 
in  thousand  liveries  dight.'  I  never  get  over  the  liveries 
in  that  line.  I  don't  mind  strange  uses  of  words,  but 
this  is  too  strange.    I  went  out  for  a  little,  but  I  did  not 


END   OF   THE   YEAR  617 

care  for  it.  The  view  of  the  sky  from  my  windows  was 
more  beautiful  than  from  the  streets,  and  I  am  not 
poisoned  there.  I  sometimes  think  I  shall  end  my  days 
in  that  country  place  [in  Surrey]  where  I  can  walk  in 
five  minutes  into  the  pinewoods  and  on  the  sandy  tracks 
among  the  heather.^  That  I  should  love,  and  there 
would  be  sweet  scents  and  silence.  But  I  wonder  if  I 
may  not  be  called  to  depart  before  I  get  there.  Things 
since  Edward's  death  seem  to  me  all  uncertainty." 

December  31.  "  I  read,  that  I  might  have  noble  sound 
in  my  ears,  Milton,  on  '  Time '  and  '  Arcades '  and  part 
of  *  Comus. '  This  has  been  a  year  in  which  very  little 
has  been  done.  I  was  ill  again  and  again  at  its  beginning 
and  when  I  attempted  to  preach  was  prevented.  And 
my  capacities  were  much  disordered.  I  often  tried  to 
work  at  literary  subjects,  but  I  could  not  manage  it  well ; 
and  I  was  much  troubled  by  gouty  villainies.  At  over 
seventy  one  yields,  when  at  fifty  and  sixty  one  would  not. 
I  did  paint  a  good  deal,  but  I  do  not  call  that  work.  I 
am  now,  for  the  time,  quite  well,  but  Edward's  death  has 
darkened  life.  We  project  a  house  in  the  country,  but  I 
wonder  if  I  shall  ever  see  it.  I  desire  much  to  be  out  of 
London  and  able  to  walk  among  the  flowers  in  the 
morning,  and  in  the  afternoon  to  wander  through  the 
woods,  and  to  live  close  to  the  breast  of  Earth — but  when 
I  get  my  desire  shall  I  enjoy  it  ?  I  think  so  now,  and  I 
believe  I  shall  rejoice,  but  the  power  to  enjoy  may  be 
taken  away.  I  hope  I  shall  not  lose  illusions.  However, 
there  is  a  world  in  which  illusion  passes  into  reality,  and 
there  I  shall  dwell  at  last." 

'  This  wish  was  fulfilled. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

LETTEKS    TO    VARIOUS    CORRESPONDENTS    1908-1914 

To  Sir  George  Henschel. 

"  Homburg.    July  23,  1908. 

"...  What  you  say  of  Lockhart's  Life  of  Scott  is 
true  indeed.  It  is  the  most  delightful  of  books,  just 
because  Scott  was  the  dearest  of  men.  When  you  have 
done  it,  read  his  Diary  of  the  last  years  of  his  life  which 
has  been  published  in  one  Volume,  and  which  I  have 
read  with  the  most  loving  appreciation  of  his  beautiful 
nature.  I  ought  not  to  say  this,  when  I  think  of  what 
you  said  of  me,  but  it  is  no  use  to  be  foolish.  I  must  say 
it.  I  am  happy  to  think  that  as  you  read  about  the 
nature  of  the  man,  you  thought  of  me,  but  between  me 
and  Sir  Walter  Scott — even  in  nature — there  is  all  the 
difference  between  a  mountain  lake,  and  the  great  Ocean. 
Do  read  the  Diary." 

To  his  daughter  Mrs  T.  W.  Bolleston. 

"  Loudon.    March  21,  1909. 

"...  We  are  all  in  an  Anti-German  fuss  here  and 
Balfour  is  going  to  make  it  a  party-question.  We  are  to 
have  at  least  twenty  Dreadnoughts,  which  means  forty 
millions  of  money ;  and  probably  before  we  have  finished 
the  twenty,  a  new  invention  will  make  them  all  useless. 
But  it  is  imperative  to  have  them — that  I  feel.  I  send 
you  the  Observer.  You  will  see  what  a  shindy  is  going 
on.  I  wonder  the  people  stand  this  war  expenditure.  I 
wonder  the  English  and  German  working  folk  don't 
combine  and  stop  it.  But  the  world  gets  madder  and 
madder." 


LOUISA  ON   SICKNESS  619 

To  Mrs  T.  W.  Rolleston 

"Homburg.    August  14,  1909. 

" .  .  .In  old  days  I  used  to  work  here,  but  now  it 
seems  impossible.  This  is  the  dreadful  incapacity  of  old 
age  moving  slowly  and  with  an  inevitable  malice  into 
one's  body,  and,  confound  it,  into  the  mind  as  well, 
which,  poor  immortal  prisoner,  is  pent  in  the  Bastille  of 
the  flesh.  And  the  walls  are  decaying,  but  still  strong 
enough  to  hold  the  captive,  and  worst  of  all,  sicken  and 
enfeeble  him  with  their  decaying  elements.  However, 
the  day  will  come  when  he  shall  be  set  free,  and  endue 
his  wings  and  seek  his  native  air,  where  the  great  Ideas 
dwell  and  administer  vital  power  to  those  who  see  them 
face  to  face.  I  have  not  seen  or  summoned  Louisa.^  She 
abhors  sickness  of  every  kind,  and  it  is  not  sympathy 
she  gives  it,  but  unmitigated  and  pitiless  disgust.  This 
makes  her  delightful  when  one  is  well,  but  a  shocking 
companion  when  one  is  ill.  '  What  you  think  of  Sin,' 
she  said  once  to  me  (a  term  I  don't  understand),  *  I  think 
of  all  sickness.  Sin  a  Hof-prediger  once  explained  to 
me,  and  I  laughed  at  him.  Sickness  I  never  felt,  but  I 
see  its  results  in  the  odious  objects  I  watch  walking  about 
the  Wells. '  So,  you  see,  as  long  as  I  am  crawling  up  and 
down,  and  unable  to  digest,  and  suffering  from  internal 
pains  and  from  all  the  villainies  of  gout,  I  dare  not  claim 
Louisa,  and  unless  I  write  about  her  in  my  Diary  I  have 
nothing  to  record  in  this  Centre  of  Monotony." 

To  Mrs  Htcmphry  Ward. 

"  Homburg.     August  19,  1909. 

"...  I  am  glad  you  can  still  think  with  pleasure 
of  Bedford  Chapel;  and  it  touched  many  chords  of 
sentiment  in  me — of  that  gracious  sentiment  which 
makes  the  old  man  forget  his  age.  All  the  trouble  and 
distresses  which  belonged  to  that  time,  not  great  ones, 
but  such  as  are  common  to  the  race,  have  now  faded 
away,  and  are  lost,  like  the  rough  or  ugly  places  of  the 

'  The  water-sprite. 


620    LETTERS   TO  VARIOUS  CORRESPONDENTS 

hills  where  one  walked  of  old,  m  the  blue  distance.  Azure 
and  gold  are  round  about  them,  and  age  says  to  its  own 
distresses :  '  As  it  was  with  those  of  the  past,  so  it  will 
be  with  those  of  the  present  in  the  far  days  to  come.' 

*'  That  is  an  excellent  subject  of  which  you  are  think- 
ing. Robert  Elsmere,  reborn  twenty  or  thirty  years 
after,  and  brought  up  to  the  20th  century.  It  is  full  of 
matter  and  of  a  vital  interest.  But  it  needs  a  large 
canvas,  and  the  most  rigid  rejection  of  the  unneces- 
sary. Of  course,  the  book,  since  it  is  to  be  of  R.  Elsmere 
twice  born,  will  be  on  the  religious  life  and  end,  and  I 
hope  that  while  you  paint  personages  involved  in  the 
strife  and  the  strife  itself,  you  will  also  paint  at  least 
one  person  who  has  passed  beyond  the  intellectual  and 
merely  moral  battle  into  quietude  and  calm,  and  sees 
the  fray  with  sympathy,  owns  its  necessity,  but  lives 
beyond  it.  I  think  this  would  be  a  centre  of  calm  in 
your  book. 

"  Yes,  I  know  [Father]  Tyrrel  and  we  used  to  meet  at 
times  in  my  study  at  Manchester  Square.  A  strange 
head  was  his,  not  commanding,  not  apparently  charged 
with  power,  and  his  intellect  was  over- subtle  for  the 
generality.  But  he  had  moral  force,  and  what  he 
thought  just  and  true,  he  clung  to  like  a  limpet.  It 
was  this  more  than  his  books  which  gave  him  influence. 
I  heard  from  the  Abbe  Bremond,  after  his  death  ;  but 
he  did  not  say  much,  except  with  regard  to  the  intolerant 
bishops  and  priests  he  said  :  '  Their  hour  is  at  hand.' 
I  don't  know  that  it  is.  Rome  understands  her  own 
position.  With  many  affectionate  remembrances. — I  am 
ever  sincerely  yours, 

"  Stopfokd  a.  Brooke." 

To  Sir  George  Henschel. 

"  Homburg.    August  19,  1909. 

"...  Homburg  is  not  enjoying  a  good  season,  though 
the  weather  is  now  lovely.  Russians  are  chiefly  here, 
few  English,  and  many  Germans.  I  wish  they  did  not 
scowl  so  much  at  the  English,  but  I  only  observe  this  in 


AN   ARTIST'S   JOY  621 

the  lower  middle  class,  and  chiefly  among  the  young 
men.  And  oh,  if  only  the  women  would  dress  a  little 
better,  and  not  get  so  fat  in  the  wrong  places.  The 
young  girls  are  nice  enough,  and  the  peasant  girls  are 
fresh  and  often  charming,  and  the  children  are  delight- 
ful, but  the  married  women  grow  slovenly  as  they  grow 
old,  and  lose  all  their  looks,  and  they  all  wear  the  same 
gown — rusty-l)lack  and  most  villainously  cut.  I  believe 
they  are  all  machined  in  one  shop.  I  suppose  the  women 
don't  care  how  they  dress  once  they  marry,  but  what  are 
their  husbands  thinking  of  ?  " 

To  Sir  George  Henschel. 

"  London.    November  13,  1909. 

"...  I  can  quite  sympathize  with  your  dislike  of 
public  singing,  but  there  is  a  good  deal  to  say  on  the 
other  side.  Of  course,  there  is  the  pleasure  you  give  to 
others,  but  I  do  not  dwell  on  that.  There  is  the  pleasure 
the  artist  feels  in  doing  what  is  good  in  his  art,  and  in 
interpreting  through  his  own  nature  what  another  artist 
has  made,  till  it  becomes,  through  the  treatment  you  give 
it,  almost  your  own.  And  there  is  the  immense  pleasure 
of  feeling  the  movement  of  all  the  souls  who  listen  into 
your  soul.  These  things  ought  to  drown  your  hatred, 
which  is  only  what  you  feel  when  you  are  alone  and 
bored.  To  be  an  artist  is  wonderful  luck,  and  when  the 
artist  has  trained  and  honoured  his  gift,  it  is  more  than 
luck — it  is  victory.  You  ought  never  to  lose  deep 
gratitude  for  the  gift.  And  then  you  are  luckier  still, 
for  you  not  only  interpret  nobly,  you  can  also  create. 
And  creation  is  the  highest  Joy  of  the  life  to  come.  To 
have  it  here  is  a  rare  blessedness." 

■  To  Mrs  T.  W.  Rolleston. 

"  Baveno.    Sept.  17,  1909. 

"  .  .  .  I  sit  at  the  window  and  picture  what  will  be  out 

of  what  1  see  and  know.    What  has  been  will  be — with  a 

difference.     And,  at  least,  there  is  peace  ;  and  the  sense 

of  Nature  as  the  Destroyer,  which  oppressed  me  in  the 


622    LETTERS  TO  VARIOUS  CORRESPONDENTS 

High  Alps,  has  past  away.  Demeter  walks  with  me,  not 
Zeus  thunderbolting  Prometheus  in  the  Caucasus,  of 
whom  I  thought  continually  as  I  looked  up  the  Valley  to 
the  tremendous  cliffs  and  glaciers  of  Mont  Blanc.  .  .  . 

"  I've  done  nothing  but  read  my  Primer  through  for 
correction.  I  wonder  that  book  has  not  been  supplanted 
in  33  years.  But  when  I  read  it  now,  after  years,  I 
thought,  with  vanity,  that  it  would  be  difficult  to  put  it 
out  of  the  market — i.e.  for  its  special  purpose.  And  then, 
it  is  quite  a  different  book  from  what  it  was  in  '76  or 
in  '82." 

To  Mrs  C. 

"  London.    November  16, 1910. 

"...  I  am  very  sorry  for  you,  and  I  do  not  wonder 
that  in  the  rush  of  grief  for  one  so  young  and  so  dear 
that  all  seems  dark  to  you.  How  could  it  be  otherwise, 
if  one  has  loved  well  ?  God  Himself  would  sympathize 
with  you.  All  He  asks  of  us  then  is  that  which  Love 
itself  would  ask,  that  we  should  not,  in  the  future,  when 
the  pain  is  soothed  by  time,  allow  our  sorrow  to  prevent 
us  from  loving  others,  but  use  its  tenderness  to  heal  and 
bless  those  who  suffer.  In  the  present  He  asks  nothing, 
for  He  remembers  our  nature  and  knows  our  pain. 
Indeed,  what  is  there  to  say  in  the  hour  of  our  loss? 
No  comfort  can  fill  up  the  gulf  of  pain.  Words  seem  to 
be  foolish  then,  and  we  can  only  go  through  the  darkness 
outwardly  quiet  but,  within,  sick  of  sorrow.  There  is  a 
great  piteousness  in  the  death  of  the  young  who  have 
had  all  life  before  them.  I  also,  long  ago,  lost  a  son  of 
ten  years  old,  bright,  eager  and  courageous  as  yours,  and 
I  can  feel  all  the  more  for  you.  Time  and  faith  and 
love  have  lessened  that  trouble,  and  I  can  think  of  him 
with  his  heavenly  Father's  love  around  his  life  in  the 
happier  world.  And  his  Mother  has  Joined  him,  and  is 
happy  with  him,  for  she  loved  him  with  a  great  love. 
And,  as  the  weeks  and  months  pass  on,  you  too  will 
realize  that  your  boy's  great  happiness  in  union  with 
God's  intense  life  is  a  grave  happiness  for  you  in  the 


GRIEF  AND  JOY  623 

midst  of  your  sorrow.  It  is  not  as  if  that  eager  life  were 
lost  or  will  not  have  fulfilment.  Fulness  of  joy  and  of 
life  will  be  your  child's,  and  you  will  find  him  again. 
For  love  cannot  die,  and  those  we  have  loved  we  shall 
love  for  ever,  and  for  ever  they  will  love  us. 

'*  And  grief  changes  its  face  as  the  years  go  on,  into 
a  serious,  spiritual  beauty.  I  sometimes  think  that  the 
most  precious  memories  we  possess — those  which  are 
loveliest  and  dearest,  which  are  our  finest  impulses, 
which  fill  us  with  most  life  and  light  and  love,  are  the 
memories  of  the  hours  when  we  lost  those  we  loved,  of 
their  noble  death,  and  of  all  the  tenderness  and  beauty 
of  their  lives  concentrated  for  us  into  the  hour  of  their 
departure,  into  the  blissful  smile  upon  their  face  before 
we  left  their  room.  I  trust  that  you  will  find  this 
comfort.     But  now  human  sorrow  will  have  its  way." 

To  Mrs  G. 

"  London.     July  18, 1911. 

"  Certainly,  I  have  been  very  remiss  in  not  answering 
your  letter  before  this,  especially  as  I  enjoyed  it  so 
much.  I  do  not  think  I  ever  received  a  letter  so  full 
of  joy,  and  as  I  love  joy  more  than  anything  else  in  the 
world,  and  think  it  the  highest  of  all  things  except  love, 
of  which  it  is  the  expression  and  form,  you  may  imagine 
how  much  your  letter  pleased  my  soul.  It  is  a  wonderful 
thing  to  emerge  from  a  tcrre  a  terre  life  into  a  world  of 
sacred  rapture,  and  you  may  think  yourself  greatly  blest, 
for  it  is  a  very  uncommon  experience.  But  then  your 
natm-e  was  made  for  it,  and  fit  to  receive  it.  .  .  ." 

To  W.  Rothenstein. 

"  The  Four  Winds.    June,  1912. 

" .  .  .  I  sit  in  the  garden  and  bid  good-bye  to  doing 
anything  at  all.  The  only  thing  which  bores  me  is  that 
I  cannot  look  forward  to  seeing  grown  up  the  trees  I 
plant,  or  the  ideas  I  have  for  the  garden  all  fulfilled.  I 
shall  only  see  them  growing  up.     That  is  my  shadow. 


624    LETTERS  TO  VARIOUS  CORRESPONDENTS 

but  there  is  plenty  of  sunshine  in  the  present,  and  it  is 
perhaps  enough.  .  .  . 

"  Yes,  I  paint  a  little,  and  it  is  most  refreshing  to  me 
that  you  can  say  you  like  my  work.  That  is,  of  course, 
that  you  like  the  spirit  in  it,  for  the  painting  itself  is 
likely  to  make  an  artist  shudder.  For  my  part,  it  is  the 
pleasure  of  making  something  out  of  one's  own  soul, 
however  inadequate,  and  the  joy  of  pursuing,  though  one 
never  attains,  which  brings  a  refreshment  to  my  old  age. 
I  hope  that,  beyond,  there  will  always  be  untravelled 
worlds,  and  that  we  shall  have  leisure  enough  to  voyage 
to  them,  and  having  found  them,  to  see  another  world 
far,  far  away." 


To  W.  Rothensteiii. 

"  Loudon.    July  16,  1912. 

"...  Oh  how  pleasant  it  would  be  if  you  and  he  [Mr 
Tagore]  and  Mrs  Rothenstein  would  come  down  for  a 
day  to  us  there  [The  Four  Winds]  and  walk  in  the 
woods !  Could  that  be  I  would  meet  you  at  the  station 
and  drive  you  up,  and  send  you  back  to  the  station  when 
it  pleased  you.     My  roses  are  worth  looking  at. 

"  I  have  been  deeply  impressed  by  the  poems  [the 
Gitanjali  of  Tagore].  Mysticism  of  this  lofty  and  pro- 
found kind  is  at  root  similar  all  over  the  world,  and  this 
accounts  for  the  strange  unity  of  the  East  and  West 
in  these  poems,  and  makes  them  ready  to  find  a 
sympathetic  home  among  that  large,  quiet  and  silent 
group  of  English  people  who  do  not  talk  against  any 
form  of  materialism,  but  think  and  feel  apart  in  still- 
ness of  the  eternal  matters.  I  wonder  if  he  would  let 
them  be  pubHshed.  They  would  not  make  a  stir,  but 
the  book  would  be  loved  by  a  great  number  whose 
love  would  be  worth  having,  and  would  be  a  delicate 
companion  of  quiet  hours.  Then  it  is  full  of  poetry — 
'  bright  shoots  of  everlastingness,'  and  I  am  often 
carried  away  into  the  infinite  with  a  whirling  pleasure." 


ALMA  TADEMA  625 

To  W.  Rothenstein. 

"  Homburg.     September  12,  1912. 

"...  I've  painted  a  bit,  things  I  have  seen  within, 
but  I  have  read  nothing  worth  reading.  Why  should  I 
read  when  I  am  so  soon  going  to  change  the  air.  When 
my  dust  has  added  an  element  or  two  to  the  roses  at 
The  Four  Winds,  what  shall  I  care  about  the  Insurance 
Act,  or  Social  Progress,  or  the  follies  of  Kings,  or  the 
loathesomeness  of  Russian  villainies;  or  of  Philosophy 
always  skipping  the  truth  under  its  eyes,  or  Science 
wading  through  its  own  hypotheses,  or  Theology  hiding 
God  by  the  clouds  it  engenders  ?  0  good-bye,  and  give 
my  memories  to  your  wife.     Good  luck  to  your  brush." 

To  Sir  George  Henschel. 

"  London.     July  25,  1912. 

"...  I  was  SO  sorry  for  you  when  I  saw  that  Alma 
Tadema  was  gone.  He  was  long  your  friend,  and  though 
link  after  link  is  broken,  and  we  might  be  accustomed  to 
each  breakage,  every  new  one  is  a  shock  and  a  grief. 
He  was  a  great  worker,  and  what  he  did  he  did  with 
triumphant  skill.  Moreover  he  really  reproduced  luxu- 
rious Rome,  and  made  a  reality  of  it.  Bad  as  that 
society  was,  it  was  less  vulgar  than  oura,  and  ten  times 
less  vulgar  than  the  smart  society  in  America." 

To  Sir  George  Henschel. 

"  The  Four  Winds.    November  28, 1912. 

"...  I  have  great  thanks  to  give  you  for  your  good 
and  comforting  words,^  and  for  your  friendship;  and 
indeed  with  all  my  heart  I  am  ready  to  take  hands  with 
you  '  upon  the  brink  and  swear  eternal  fellowship.'  I 
feel  also  strangely  bound  in  affection  to  you — strangely, 
because  since  those  old  days  we  have  seen  so  little  of 
one  another ;  but  then  those  old  days  held  in  them  so 
much  youth,  interest,  passion  and  vitality,  that  they 
made  an  iufrancible  bond  between  us.     1  wish  I  were 

'  On  Brooke'b  eightieth  birthday. 


626    LETTERS  TO  VARIOUS  CORRESPONDENTS 

not  so  old,  and  could  still  wander  about  where  I  will. 
But  this  year  has  hit  me  hard;  and  I  feel  near  the 
verge." 

To  Sir  Sidney  Lee. 

"  The  Four  Winds.    December,  1912. 

"  .  .  .  It  gave  me  sincere  pleasure  to  read  your  letter 
about  that  Address  ^  to  me.  Coming  from  you,  praise  is 
of  double  worth  and  gives  a  double  pleasure.  I  wish  I 
could  tell  you  how  much  new  light  your  book  on  the 
influence  of  French  poetry,  etc.,  on  Elizabethan  Lite- 
rature, threw  on  all  that  literature,  and  how  much  I 
admired  the  penetrative  power,  the  imaginative  com- 
position of  the  book,  to  say  nothing  of  its  learning,  and 
the  learning  made  dehghtful." 

To  Stuart  Reid. 

"  The  Four  Winds.     May  10,  1913. 

"...  I  was  thoroughly  interested  in  your  book  on 
Sarah  [Duchess  of  Marlborough]  and  on  the  many  fresh 
lights  and  shadows  which  your  pages  threw  on  her 
character  and  life.  She  stands  out  quite  clear,  and  I 
wish  she  had  been  clearer  still.  1  have  always  been 
most  interested  in  her,  and  the  book  awakens  new 
interest  in  her.  Of  course,  it  is  excellently  written,  and 
vivid  enough  to  please  not  only  historians  but  the  general 
reader  like  myself. 

"  When  you  come  here,  as  you  suggest,  in  July,  I  shall 
have  more  to  say.  I  have  been  much  troubled  in  health, 
and  worried  with  inability  to  write;  but  this  delightful 
day  ought  to  prove  that  there  is  some  goodness  left  in 
the  Universe.  That  and  the  existence  of  Lloyd  George 
console  me." 

To  W.  Rothenstein. 

"  The  Four  Winds.     June  13,  1913. 

"...  Oh,  don't  let  your  work  master  you.  A  man 
should  be  able  to  sit  apart,  when  he  pleases,  from  all 

'  An  Address  presented  to  him  on  his  eightieth  birthday.    See  the 
end  of  the  Chapter. 


"AMANTIUM  mM"  627 

that  he  does  and  loves,  and  know  that  he  is  free.  Nature 
enslaves  some  natures,  and  Art,  which  is  Nature  trying 
to  make  herself  known  to  Man,  also  tries  to  limit  and 
chain  the  soul." 

To  Mrs  T.  W.  Bolleston. 

"  High  Wethersell.     August  27,  1913. 

"...  I  have  had  my  day,  and  now  in  the  afterglow 
of  life  I  take  my  repose.  Only  now  and  again  conscience 
barks  and  says  *  Get  on  a  bit,  do  something.'  '  Hush,' 
I  say,  '  Importunate  Dog,  you  are  as  old  as  I,  go  to 
sleep.'  And  before  I  have  said  all  this,  the  old  thing 
is  asleep." 

To  Cobden  Sanderson. 

"  The  Four  Winds.     November  7,  1913. 

"...  How  are  you  now  ?  I  trust  better  and  better. 
Your  postcard  told  me  how  much  enjoyment  filled  your 
soul  from  the  beauty  of  the  world,  and  that  made  me 
feel,  with  gratitude,  that  the  life  of  the  Universe  was 
adding  itself  to  your  life.  I  keep  communion  with  the 
*  Cosmos,'  but  I  want  something  more. 

"  Don't  trouble  to  write.  Ask  your  wife  to  send  me 
a  little  line  to  say  how  you  are.  We  have  wonderful 
weather  here,  but  there  are  many  who  growl  at  the  rain 
and  mist,  as  if  the  world  were  run  for  them  alone.  We 
are,  in  a  rushing  hopefulness  and  faith,  preparing  the 
garden  for  the  coming  of  Spring.  It  looks  a  bit  desolate, 
but  underneath  Life  is  simmering  in  every  seed,  and 
the  beech  has  already  clothed  the  leafless  twigs  with 
green  sheathes  where  more  than  20  leaves  are  furled  up 
for  *  future  glory.'  ..." 

To  Cobden  Sanderson. 

"London.     January  10,  19.14. 

"It  is  a  wonder  I  have  not  acknowledged  your 
letter  and  book  [*  Amantium  Irse ']  before  this,  for  I 
have  been  extraordinarily  interested  in  them,  but  what 
with  transferring  houses,  and  family  pressure  at  these 


628     LETTEKS  TO  VARIOUS  CORRESPONDENTS 

associated  times  of  the  year,  I  have  been  much  tossed 
about ;  and  then  I  knew  you  were  wandering,  and  I 
don't  suppose  you  have  yet  come  back  from  Switzer- 
land. I  do  not  wonder  if  you  were  a  Httle  shy  of 
printing  anything  so  curiously  personal  and  intense, 
but  I  think  that  it  was  well  worth  the  conquest  of  any 
reticence  to  do  it.  The  letters  are  the  most  human 
document  I  have  ever  read,  and  they  come  quite 
fresh  and  clear  from  their  sources  within  you.  What 
you  gather  from  them  in  your  epilogue  does  not  interest 
me  half  so  much  as  the  changing,  impulsive  humanity 
of  the  letters,  the  rushes  and  breaking  back  of  passion 
and  all  the  rest  of  it.  It's  a  wonderful  picture  of  a 
young  man  in  a  tangle,  and  of  his  life  in  it.  Moreover, 
and  independent  in  a  certain  sense  of  the  personal 
element,  it  is  also  a  very  vivid  picture  of  the  intellectual 
and  spiritual  ferment  of  the  sixties  of  the  last  century, 
when  we  threw  everything  into  the  seething  pot  and 
wondered  what  would  emerge,  and  some  [thought]  that 
a  new  world  would  be  born  with  truth  in  it,  and  after  a 
time,  order.  I  went  through  that  time,  and  I  remember 
its  fresh  and  stormy  winds.  Your  letters  picture,  out  of 
the  time  itself,  and  with  very  little  self-consciousness, 
what  the  time  was  in  one  strongly  individual  soul.  And 
that  this  soul  was  also,  at  the  time  of  the  letters,  whirled 
about  by  passion,  makes  them,  or  rather  their  repre- 
sentation of  the  intellectual  seething  of  the  time,  all  the 
more  interesting.  Then  there  is  in  them  also  the  un- 
known land  behind  them  of  which  we  are  told  nothing, 
of  which  we  are  vaguely  aware,  the  hidden  life  of  which 
is  like  a  vague,  subtle  atmosphere  in  the  book,  which  is 
very  attractive. 

"I'm  mighty  glad  to  have  it  from  you,  and  I  am 
grateful  to  you  for  it.     It  shall  stay  close  to  my  hand." 

To  W.  Rotlienstein. 

"  London.     January  15,  1914. 

"...  As  to  [my]  paintings  it  is  good  to  hear  that  you 
think  well  of  them,  and  if  you  will  go  through  them 
some  day  next  month  with  me,  as  you  suggest,  and  see 


MEMORIES   OF   THE   PAST  629 

if  you  still  believe  they  have  sufficient  individual  feeling 
to  make  them  worth  publicit}',  in  spite  of  their  technical 
failures, — I  shall  feel  it  to  be  very  kind  of  you.  But, 
of  course,  I  shall  not  mind  one  bit  if  you  say — No.  They 
were  done  for  my  private  pleasure,  and  for  the  fun  of 
pursuing.  If  folk,  as  they  grow  old,  would  only  invent 
something  apart  from  that  which  they  have  been  doing 
all  their  life,  and  take  it  up  when  tired  of  other  things, 
and  put  their  nature  into  it,  they  would  have  the  joy  of 
making  something,  and  in  that  feel  young  now  and  then, 
and  so  would  taste  the  morning  and  its  pleasure.  And 
if  what  they  do  is  not  really  good,  it  would  not  matter. 
It  is  not  the  thing  done  which  is  important,  it  is  the 
making  of  the  thing  out  of  nothing,  and,  as  I  have  said, 
the  pursuit." 

To  the  Hon.  Mrs  Winri field. 

"  London.    March  1,  1914. 

"...  Yes,  I  feel  a  great  deal  the  parting  from  this 
house  with  its  thousand  associations  of  life  and  death 
and  love,  but  I  shall  try  and  make  a  new  life  of  interest 
in  Surrey.  I  must  build  a  little  and  that  will  be  amusing, 
but  these  last  days  when  one  has  to  settle  what  to  keep 
and  what  to  sell  of  the  collections  of  nearly  fifty  years 
have  been  rather  trying.  You  are  more  like  Abraham, 
a  stranger  and  a  pilgrim,  than  I  have  been,  and  it  is 
wise  of  you  to  use  Goethe's  phrase — 'Be  content  with 
your  limitations,'  a  phrase  your  noble  mother  ^  was  fond 
of.  How  well  I  remember  her  in  the  old  days  when  she 
was  so  infinitely  good  to  me,  and  when  she  influenced 
me  so  profoundly.  I  wish  I  had  seen  you,  I  do  not 
know  how  long  I  shall  last,  though  indeed  of  late  I 
have  been— since  my  last  worry — very  well." 

To  Mrs  J.  R.  Green. 

"  London.     March  14,  1914. 

"...  I  wonder  now  if  literature  will  develop  at  first 
under  Home  Rule,  or  be  snowed  under  by  political  and 

'  Lady  Castletown,  the  Mrs  Fitzpatrick  of  his  youth. 


630    LETTERS  TO  VARIOUS  CORRESPONDENTS 

commercial  passions.  The  Lady  of  Literature  has  better 
health  in  rags  and  in  caves  than  in  rich  clothes  and  in 
soft  houses.  And,  of  all  nations,  Ireland  cannot  stand 
luxury.  However,  she  is  not  likely  in  these  early  years 
of  Home  Rule  to  have  too  much  of  that.  Only,  I  fear 
that  in  the  inevitable  struggle  to  be  well  off,  she  may 
lose  the  very  essences  of  literature." 

To  Mrs  T.  W.  Rolleston. 

"  The  Four  Winds.    May  19,  1914. 

"...  Bryce  was  here  Saturday  and  Sunday.  He 
and  I  talked  for  forty-eight  hours  I  think.  He  said  that 
'  you  have  got  the  very  choicest  site  and  views  within 
fifty  miles  of  London  in  any  direction,  and  the  longer 
you  live  there  the  more  you  will  both  like  it.'  We 
avoided  politics,  but  we  discussed  the  greater  part  of  the 
Holy  Land.  You  will  have  much  to  see  here.  The 
rooms  are  full  of  things  and  it  is  really  wonderful  how 
Evelyn  has  got  so  much  in,  and  so  well  that  we  do  not 
look  overcrowded,  but  only  full  up.  There  are  two  ideals 
for  rooms — one  a  crowd  of  things  in  harmony,  so  that 
the  room  should  look  as  if  the  indwellers  had  been  there 
for  200  years.  The  other  the  Japanese  ideal — one  flower 
in  one  bronze  and  a  rug.  I  prefer  the  former  for  Eng- 
land. The  half-furnished  or  the  ill-furnished  medium  is 
almost  unendurable." 

To  his  sister  Angel. 

"  The  Four  Winds.     July  14,  1914. 

"...  I  read  Mr  Yeats'  sermon  of  Sylvester  Home 
and  thought  it  remarkably  good  and  excellently  thought 
and  imagined.  I  was  sorry  when  S.  Home  went  to 
Parliament.  A  man  should  not  wear  two  swords  of 
different  temper.  I  was  once  tempted  to  go  into  the 
House.  I  was  offered  a  seat  in  Cornwall,  and  I  went  so 
far  as  to  get  rid  of  my  '  Orders.'  Then  I  said  No,  and 
I  did  not  repent  of  my  refusal.  To  use  the  American 
phrase— vulgar  but  effective— S.  B.  'bit  off  more  than 
he  could  chew.' " 


CHARLOTTE   BRONTE  631 

To  Professor  William  Knight. 

"  September  30,  1914. 

"  My  dear  Knight, — I  am  sorry  to  hear  that  your 
walking  days  are  over,  but  you  have  many  splendid 
walks  to  make  in  memory,  and  you  can  still — which  is 
all  I  can  do— walk  about  your  place  and  sit  by  the 
murmur  and  dashing  of  the  Greta.  Alas !  I  have  no 
stream  near  me,  but  I  often  shut  my  eyes  when  the  wind 
washes  in  the  trees,  and  fancy  that  I  hear  the  racing  . 
water  under  Steel  Bridge  tell  me  that  it  remembers  \ 
me.  ...  I  don't  think  that  I  shall  come  to  Grasmere 
again.  If  I  do,  I  shall  come  over  to  see  you.  I  hunger 
to  see,  and  hear,  running  water.  My  Cottage  is  on  the 
edge  of  a  high  down  in  Surrey,  and  through  the  larch 
and  beech,  which  fringe  the  garden  and  the  field,  I  see 
far  below  the  slumbering  Weald,  as  silent  and  self- 
contained,  as  if  there  were  no  war  in  all  the  world.  I 
have  lived  long,  and  been  happy ;  and  I  have  seen  many 
things  done  for  which  I  longed,  and  which  I  never 
thought  I  should  live  to  see.  Good-bye;  you  have  in- 
creased the  pleasure  and  the  good  of  the  world,  and 
when  you  walk  by  the  Greta,  its  quiet  song  is  full  of 
your  praise  and  love." 

To  his  sister  Cecilia. 

"  November  19,  1915. 

"  Dearest  Cecilia, — Many,  many  thanks  for  the  Char- 
lotte Bronte's  letters.  I  have  read  them,  skipping  here 
and  there.  All  those  of  vital  interest  are  very  interest- 
ing, but  I  wish  the  real  woman — such  as  her  books 
reveal — were  more  present  in  the  letters.  However  we 
have  her  at  the  full  in  Jane  Eyre  and  Villette,  and  we 
need  no  more.  I  hope  you  are  well,  as  I  am.  I  wish 
3'ou  were  here  now,  the  weather  is  wonderful,  but  every- 
thing is  dying.  My  birthday  was  a  happy  one.  The 
day  was  beautiful,  I  was  well,  the  company  was  most 
pleasant  and  loving — Honor  and  Maud  and  Stopford  and 

VOL.    II.  T 


632    LETTERS  TO  VARIOUS  CORRESPONDENTS 

Helen  :  we  were  all  gay  and  glancing,  Evelyn  presided 
with  great  dignity  and  pleasure,  the  room  was  lit  up  en 
fete,  and  adorned  with  a  multitude  of  flowers." 

To  Professor  William  Knight. 

"November  30,  1915. 

"...  I  am  rather  worried  with  old  age  troubles.  It 
is  funny,  and  sometimes  solemn,  to  feel  the  walls  closing 
in,  and  every  sunny  day,  as  I  sit  on  the  hill  top  I  feel 
inclined  to  say — '  Good-bye,  Sun  and  Father  Sky,  with 
all  your  cloud  children.     I  am  going  away.'  " 

On  November  14,  1912,  his  eightieth  birthday,  he 
was  presented  with  an  illuminated  address,  the  text  of 
which,  together  with  his  answer,  is  given  below.  In  the 
long  list  of  signatures  are  to  be  found  the  names  of 
ministers  of  many  denominations,  heads  of  universities 
and  colleges,  artists,  men  of  letters,  men  of  science, 
foreign  savants,  and  a  large  number  of  personal  friends 
in  all  ranks  of  life. 


''  To  the  Rev.  Stopford  A.  Brooke,  M.A.,  LL.D., 
November  14,  1912. 

'*  Dear  Mr.  Brooke, — We  desire  to  express  to  you  on 
your  eightieth  birthday  our  feelings  of  respect  and 
affection,  and  to  thank  you  for  the  work  that  you  have 
done  and  the  influence  you  have  exerted  through  a  long 
and  noble  life. 

"  We  recognize  your  eminence  as  a  preacher  and  the 
sincerity  and  courage  with  which  you  have  always  acted 
and  spoken.  Your  message  has  been  inspired  by  love 
and  by  a  longing  for  the  good  and  the  beautiful.  You 
have  appealed  to  the  deepest  needs  of  men  and  women ; 
you  have  helped  them  to  realize  the  things  that  belong 
unto  their  peace.  We  have  felt  in  your  teaching  a  great 
delight  in  beauty  and  a  great  confidence  in  the  goodness 


HIS   EIGHTIETH  BIRTHDAY  633 

of  life  and  the  greatness  of  death.  Your  writings  have 
made  for  a  high  joy  in  living.  You  have  condemned  evil 
only  to  reveal  the  good.  You  have  always  tried  to  speak 
the  truth  in  love.  You  have  touched  life  at  many  points. 
We  feel  in  you  a  wide  and  sympathetic  humanity  and  a 
noble  imagination  which  has  helped  you  to  understand 
and  interpret  many  various  types  of  men  and  to  find 
good  in  many  different  forms  of  activity. 

"  We  thank  you  for  what  you  have  done  as  an  inter- 
preter of  Art  and  Poetry.  In  your  teaching  we  have  seen 
that  the  love  of  beauty  and  the  love  of  truth  are  essen- 
tially one.  It  has  helped  the  lover  of  beauty  to  love  the 
right,  and  the  lover  of  right  to  love  the  beautiful.  You 
have  shown  the  inner  unity  which  binds  the  seekers 
after  beauty,  truth  and  right  together. 

"Above  all,  we  reverence  your  life  and  the  power  of 
sympathy  and  friendship  you  possess.  You  have  lived 
a  long  life  of  devotion  to  high  ideals,  always  brave 
and  cheerful  in  times  of  trial,  always  meeting  your 
friends  with  encouragement  and  your  troubles  with  a 
smile. 

"It  is  with  sincere  affection  that  we  think  of  j^ou 
and  now  offer  you  our  heartfelt  congratulations  on  the 
occasion  of  your  eightieth  birthday.  We  should  like  you 
to  reahze  how  much  you  are  loved  and  honoured  by  your 
known  and  unknown  friends,  and  we  hope  it  may  be  a 
source  of  happiness  for  you  to  remember  the  respect  and 
gratitude  which  your  life  and  work  have  called  out 
towards  you  in  many  hearts." 

"  The  Pour  Winds,  Ewhurst,  Surrey. 
"  Dec.  1, 1912. 

"  My  dear  Miss  Lawrence, — I  trust  you  will  allow 
me  to  convey  through  you  my  grateful  thanks  to  those 
who  signed  the  Address  presented  to  me  on  my  eightieth 
birthday.  The  signatures  attached  to  it,  the  many  un- 
known friends  I  found  among  them,  the  gracious  things 
said  in  it  about  my  work — hard  for  me  to  believe  but 
bringing  me  a  new  hope — the  letters  which  accompanied 
it,  and  were  so  full  of  affection,  brought  to  me  comfort 


634    LETTERS  TO  VARIOUS  CORRESPONDENTS 

and  strength,  and  a  deep  pleasure.  It  came  to  me  at  a 
time  when  I  had  been  much  depressed,  and  it  seemed 
to  Uft  away  all  my  depression,  and  to  fill  the  western 
sky  of  what  life  is  left  to  me  with  happy  colour  and 
quiet  light. 

"  I  am  most  sincerely  yours, 
"  Stopford  a.  Brooke." 


CHAPTER    XXXIII 

LETTERS   TO   VISCOUNT   BRYCE,    1899-1916 

Brooke's  friendship  with  Viscount  Bryce  began  in  1873. 
Some  of  the  letters  belonging  to  the  earlier  period  have 
already  been  given.  Those  which  follow,  belonging  to 
the  later  period,  form  a  group  by  themselves,  and  are 
here  presented  together,  though  breaking  somewhat  into 
the  chronological  order. 

In  response  to  my  request  Viscount  Bryce  has  re- 
corded the  following  memories  of  Brooke : — 

"Vivacious  and  suggestive  and  full  of  good  things 
as  Stopford  Brooke's  letters  were,  they  do  not — letters 
seldom  can — convey  an  impression  of  the  charm  his 
conversation  had.  It  was  always  that  best  kind  of  con- 
versation which  is  evoked  by  the  moment,  the  ideas 
seeming  to  come  perfectly  fresh  for  the  occasion,  rising 
naturally  as  a  new  subject  came  up,  charged  with  thought, 
yet  easy  and  playful,  sometimes  touched  with  a  lively 
paradox.  Comparing  it  with  that  of  some  of  the  best 
talkers  among  his  contemporaries,  one  might  say  that 
he  had  as  much  acute  suggestiveness  as  George  Meredith, 
as  much  quickness  and  fun  as  J.  R.  Green,  as  much 
insight,  though  of  a  less  exact  quality  (and  with  less  wit), 
than  Walter  Bagehot,  as  much  humour,  if  not  of  so  subtle 
a  kind,  as  Charles  Bowen.  With  all  this,  there  was  a 
sort  of  Irish  dash,  and  a  delightful  way  of  throwing  open 
and  letting  you  into  his  whole  mind.  This  helped  to 
give  his  conversation  that  stimulating  quality  which  sets 
the  rest,  interlocutors  and  listeners,  thinking,  and  brings 
out  all  that  is  best  in  them.     In  talking  to  him,  one  felt 


636    LETTERS   TO  VISCOUNT   BRYCE,  1899-1916 

lifted  to  a  wider  view  or  sharpened  to  a  keener  perception. 
It  was  perhaps  on  hterary  topics  that  one  felt  this  most, 
because  it  was  in  them,  and  in  art,  as  the  interpreter  of 
nature  and  thought,  that  his  chief  interests  lay.  Though 
he  had  lived  for  a  time  in  Germany,  and  could  read 
German  easily,  sense  of  form  made  him  care  less  for 
German  than  for  Italian  and  French  poets.  But  it  was, 
of  course,  the  English  writers  that  he  loved  most,  and 
knew  best,  having,  as  his  books  show,  a  wonderfully 
wide  and  full  acquaintance  with  them.  His  taste  was 
catholic,  and  free  from  all  national  bias,  and  his  judg- 
ments always  penetrating  as  well  as  sympathetic.  His 
was  that  kind  of  insight  which  is  seldom,  if  ever,  found 
except  in  imaginative  minds,  minds  that  have  them- 
selves a  creative  quality,  even  if  not  of  the  highest  order. 
He  was  really  a  poet ;  and  if  he  had  never  written  a 
line  of  verse  one  would  have  known  him  by  his  talk  to 
be  a  poet.  Surely  no  more  illuminative  criticism  of 
Shakespeare  has  been  produced,  since  Goethe's  on 
Hamlet,  than  what  is  contained  in  the  two  volumes 
which  he  published  when  well  past  seventy.  One  may 
say  the  same  of  his  estimates  of  Shelley  and  Browning. 

"  Though  he  never  took  an  active  part  in  politics 
(unless  his  serving  in  1876  on  a  Committee  of  the  Eastern 
Question  Association  which  prepared  an  appeal  to  the 
nation  against  the  pro-Turkish  policy  of  Lord  Beacons- 
field's  Government  can  be  so  described)  he  watched 
public  events  closely,  and  had  always  much  to  say  about 
them.  Foreign  affairs  and  Irish  affairs  specially  in- 
terested him.  He  was,  like  his  friend  J.  R.  Green,  a 
Home  Ruler  before  1886,  and  understood  the  minds  and 
ways  of  the  Irish  as  no  one  but  an  Irishman  can,  and  as 
those  Irishmen  do  best  who  have  imaginative  insight  like 
his  without  being  themselves  involved  in  political  strife. 
For  a  man  of  imagination,  he  was  very  little  governed 
by  his  emotions,  and  not  at  all  by  party  spirit,  having  a 
strong  common  sense,  and  power  of  getting  down  to  the 
truth  of  things.  Indeed,  he  was  in  many  ways  curiously 
detached,  forming  his  own  conclusions,  not  amenable  to 
influences,  social  or  personal,  or  political,  never  carried 


LOED  BRYCE'S   MEMORIES  637 

away  by  the  passion  of  the  moment.  It  was  a  character 
of  singular  independence,  and  careless  about  most  of  the 
things  which  men  in  general  desire.  When  he  left  the 
Church  of  England,  resigning  therewith  his  chaplaincy  to 
the  Queen  and  all  that  it  involved,  he  never  gave  a  thought 
to  the  social  connections  or  other  worldly  advantages  he 
might  be  renouncing.  Once  he  had  convinced  himself 
that  he  could  not  conscientiously  use  the  Anglican 
liturgy,  no  consideration  but  conscience,  nor  all  the 
persuasions  of  Arthur  Stanley,  anxious  to  vindicate  the 
amplitude  of  the  Church  of  England,  weighed  with  him 
in  the  least.  The  same  sort  of  independence  made  him 
indifferent  to  literary  fame,  unregardful  of  the  success 
of  his  writings,  and  of  what  critics  said  about  them.  If 
his  friends  were  pleased  with  what  he  wrote,  that  pleased 
him ;  he  asked  no  more.  He  wrote  when  and  because 
he  felt  he  had  something  to  say.  He  said  it,  and  left 
it  there.  Everything  was  spontaneous,  his  writing  like 
his  talk.  He  took  pains  to  do  the  thing  well,  but  he  could 
not  have  written  well  about  things  he  did  not  care  for. 

"  To  him  the  love  of  poetry  was  deeply  intertwined 
with  the  love  of  Nature.  His  joy  in  natural  beauty 
seemed  to  go  on  growing.  As  Wordsworth  says,  he 
seemed,  the  longer  he  lived,  "  to  live  beneath  its  more 
habitual  power."  Nature  became  mystic  to  him,  or  he 
a  sort  of  mystic  in  contemplating  it.  He  was  too  personal 
in  his  theology  to  become  a  pantheist ;  the  sense  of  God 
in  Nature  did  not  make  him  the  less  a  Christian.  Five 
years  before  his  death  he  settled  down  in  one  of  the 
loveliest  spots  in  Southern  England  and  built  a  house  on 
a  high  hill  top  whence  the  eye  ranged  over  a  wide  land- 
scape as  far  as  the  Sussex  South  Downs  beyond  which 
lay  the  sea.  Above  the  small  garden  full  of  roses  there 
was  a  seat  where,  being  unable  to  walk  far,  he  spent 
most  of  his  hours  in  meditation.  His  physical  strength 
had  begun  to  decline,  but  his  mental  force  was  not  abated, 
nor  was  his  interest  in  the  movements  of  the  world. 
Feeling  himself  not  quite  equal  to  public  appearances, 
he  declined  a  request  from  the  British  Academy  to 
deliver  their  annual   Shakespeare  lecture,  but  he  read 


638    LETTERS   TO  VISCOUNT  BRYCE,  1899-1916 

new  books  as  keenly  as  ever,  and  amused  himself  with 
painting  landscapes.  His  talk  was  perhaps  less  flashing, 
though  it  had  all  the  old  gaiety  and  the  old  keenness. 
Even  the  outbreak  of  the  war  did  not  destroy  his  cheerful- 
ness and  his  faith  that  sunshine  and  peace  would  come 
after  the  storm.  He  waited  quietly  for  the  end,  feeling 
that  his  work  was  done,  troubled  by  no  vain  regrets  for 
himself,  and  full  of  belief  in  the  future  of  his  country. 
His  mellow  wisdom  shone  like  the  slowly  fading  radiance 
of  a  summer  sunset,  and  softened  the  sadness  of  the 
friends  who  felt  that  he  must  soon  depart  from  among 
them.  Their  latest  recollections  are  of  this  serenity  and 
faith  in  the  victory  of  the  good." 

The  Letters. 

"  Edinburgh.    November  24,  '99. 

"  I  walked  out  to  see  you  on  Tuesday,  but  found  you 
gone.  I  was  sorry,  for  I  wished  for  a  talk  with  you ;  I 
have  seen  so  little  of  you  of  late  years.  It  troubled  me 
a  good  deal  on  Sunday  that  you  looked  so  ill  and  worn 
out,  like  a  man  quite  overdone;  and  I  wanted  to  say 
how  much  I  hoped  that  this  tyranny  of  work  under 
which  you  are  now  living  at  Aberdeen  would  soon  be 
overpast.  You  seemed  as  if  you  needed  a  long  rest,  but 
when  do  you  ever  take  a  rest  ?  Were  I  to  do  what  you 
do,  I  should  have  long  ago  been  dead.  I  have  been  quite 
angry  with  the  Aberdonians  and  the  Scotch  papers  for 
worrying  at  you  so  much  about  the  position  you  have 
taken  up.^  Every  public  man  has  of  course  to  suffer 
these  things  and  hold  his  own ;  but  when  a  man  like 
you  has  done  so  much  and  so  faithfully  and  with  such 
rare  intelligence,  and  such  a  desire,  so  eagerly  pursued, 
to  find  and  know  the  truth  of  things,  it  would  be  but 
decent  on  the  part  of  his  constituents,  of  all  parties,  to 
listen  with  respect,  above  all,  with  courtesy,  to  what  he 
has  to  say  on  a  grave  matter,  remembering  his  great 
services  to  the  state.  And  in  me  at  least,  though  I 
cannot  agree  with  you,  you  find  a  listener  who  hears 

'  Regarding  the  South  African  war. 


POLITICS   AND    LITERATURE  639 

with  reverence  all  you  have  to  say.  I  wanted  to  say 
this,  lest  you  should,  by  any  chance,  mix  me  up  with 
that  heckling  horde  who  forgot  their  obligations  to  your 
whole  career  in  their  political  animosity. 

'*  Sometimes  I  wish  you  were  out  of  all  this  political 
hurly-burly.  It  is  such  a  dreadful  waste  of  time  and 
energy.  And  you  might  do  so  much  more  for  the  world, 
for  the  future,  by  writing  apart  from  the  transient  shock 
of  men.  You  have  all  your  knowledge  in  hand — immense 
reserves  which  have  not  yet  been  used— and  for  months 
together  you  make  mere  speeches,  the  valuable  part  of 
which — if  I  may  partly  judge  by  the  comments  of  your 
Tuesday  speech — are  wasted  on  your  audiences,  and  the 
merely  controversial  parts  isolated  for  the  purpose  of 
worrying  you.  I  wish  you  were  out  of  it  all,  and  at  work 
which  men,  when  we  are  both  dead,  will  appreciate  and 
honour.  I  hope  you  will  not  think  that,  like  Paul  Pry, 
I  intrude." 

"  Aviemore.    August  22,  '01. 

"  Yes,  I  am  here,  and  the  airs  of  heaven  are  good. 
Moreover  the  Highlands  is  the  only  place  I  know  where 
rain  improves  the  scenery,  and  where  one  does  not  cry 
out  night  and  day  for  the  sun.  The  only  days  on  which 
the  mountains  look  uninterestmg,  bleak,  barren  and 
naked,  are  the  days  of  unclouded  sunshine.  The  worst 
of  the  Hotel  is  the  nearness  of  the  Railway  Station, 
where,  on  this  single  line,  the  trains  wait  for  one  another, 
and  while  they  wait  they  complain  through  their  waste- 
pipes  until  I  wonder  that  Craig  Ellachie  can  '  stand 
fast '  under  the  noise,  and  does  not  send  down  his  rocks 
to  sweep  the  station  away. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  have  missed  you  so  often,  but  I  am 
generally  out  of  town  when  you  are  in  it,  and  you  are 
generally  out  of  town  when  I  am  in  it.  I  leave  London 
in  March  and  come  back  in  October,  and  you  come  in 
March  and  go  away  in  August.  It  used  not  to  be  so, 
but  '  politics '  now  directs  your  movements.  I  wish 
they  did  not.  I  shall  never  cease  regretting  that  they 
have  taken  you  away  from  literature.    They  are  a  barren 


640    LETTERS   TO  VISCOUNT  BRYCE,  1899-1916 

field  and  all  their  strife  has  but  little  influence  on  events. 
The  world  goes  on  its  way  independent  of  Parliaments. 
The  whirlpools  in  the  river  have  little  to  do  with  the 
onward  movement  of  all  its  waters. 

"  It  is  very  honest  weather  here,  and  the  hotel  is  full 
of  folk.  And  I  know  some  of  the  people  about,  so  have 
enough  society.  I  am  doing  a  book  on  Browning.  It 
will  not  please  the  devotees  of  Browning.  It  will  not 
please  the  ethical  or  theological  creatures  who  exploit 
Browning  for  the  support  of  their  philosophies.  I  don't 
think  it  will  please  anybody,  but  it  has  to  be  done.  I 
am  as  pessimistic  about  it  as  you  are  with  regard  to  the 
world.  I  don't  agree  with  all  you  say,  at  least  I  think 
that  there  is  another  side  to  the  matter  which  you  do 
not  see,  and  I  think  have  never  seen.  And  I  am  sure 
that  is  the  side  to  dwell  on  in  sermons.  I  do  not  ignore 
the  bad— but  it  is  worse  still  to  ignore  the  good — and  in 
spite  of  all,  God  is  in  Man.  That  was  the  best  thing 
Browning  said,  and  he  said  it  all  his  life  long." 

"  London.     '03.' 

"  Clarke  was  a  fine  publicist,  and  a  scholar  in 
philosophy.  He  knew  Austria  and  her  provinces  well 
and  did  the  Spectator  articles  on  them.  He  was  also 
a  wise  and  careful  writer  on  all  foreign  politics.  Then 
he  knevv^  America  well.  He  succeeded  Bagehot  as  writer 
on  foreign  policy  in  the  Economist,  I  think  (I  don't 
know  these  papers).  He  had  full  literary  interests,  but 
they  ran  chiefly  to  poetry,  like  Walt  Whitman's,  which 
entered  into  the  democratic  movement,  and  he  was  a 
great  admirer,  follower  and  commentator  of  Mazzini. 
He  hated,  and  with  intensity,  the  money-worship  of  the 
day.  No  one  I  ever  met  was  a  greater  friend  of  justice 
and  truth,  but  he  almost  despaired  of  them  prevailing. 
He  fought  their  battle  steadfastly  and  was  ready  to  die 
for  them.  He  was  a  liberal  in  theology,  or  rather,  he 
made  his  own,  and  it  held  to  God,  Immortality  and  the 
spirit  of  Jesus  as  necessary  for  the  progress  of  mankind. 

•  In  reply  to  a  question  about  William  Clarke  whom  Lord  Bryce 
had  met  at  Brooke's  house. 


HOME   RULE  641 

"  He  was  more  of  a  Socialist  than  an  Individualist. 
Few  have,  an  unrecognized  sentinel,  stood  more  firmly 
for  all  that  pertains  to  social  advancement.  Despondency 
clouded  his  aims  and  acts  too  much;  but  he  never  quite 
despaired  of  the  world — save  when  those  periodical  attacks 
of  influenza  left  him  broken.  It  was  a  faithful  Hfe  but 
a  sad  one.  His  intellectual  interest  in  all  that  was  doing 
in  the  world  saved  him  from  being  overdone  by  his 
physical  trouble.  His  friendship  was  worth  havmg.  It 
held  fast. 

**  There— I  have  said  briefly  what  he  was.  Of  course, 
an  epitaph  will  mostly  dwell— considering  it  will  be  read 
in  a  foreign  land  — on  him  as  a  citizen  of  humanity." 

"  London.     February  23,  '06. 

"  .  .  .  Many  hearty  congratulations  on  your  speech  ^ 
which  I  read  with  the  greatest  pleasure,  and  with  renewed 
hopes  for  Ireland.  It  was  dignified,  firm,  very  honest, 
and  touched  with  fine  and  noble  sentiment — with  a 
personal  touch  also  which  Vv-as  very  winning.  It  made 
my  blood  stir  with  hope. 

"  I  suppose  you  had  a  mandate  from  the  Cabinet  to 
commit  them  in  the  future — after  a  Session,  I  suppose, 
to  Home  Rule.  You  certainly  managed  to  do  that,  not 
60  much  in  words  as  in  the  under-drift  of  your  words. 
And,  on  the  whole,  I  think,  this  was  far  the  wisest  thing 
to  do.  It  is  better  to  let  the  country  know  that  you  are 
driving  steadily  to  a  distant  goal  of  Home  Rule,  with  a 
decided  aim,  than  to  allow  the  country  to  say  that  you 
are  drifting  blindly  or  dimly  to  Home  Rule.  England 
will  then  know  clearly  what  you  mean  in  the  present 
and  future — and  any  clear  knowledge  of  what  a  Govern- 
ment means  after  the  disgraceful  doubtfulness  and  ignor- 
ance in  which  [the  late  Government]  kept  us,  will  be  in 
itself  a  heartfelt  satisfaction  to  the  country.  Clearness 
and  brevity — that's  what  we  want — what  we  hunger  for. 
And  never  had  a  Parliament  a  greater  opportunity  of 
throwing   overboard   all  party  tricks  and   fencing   and 

1  Speech  delivered  as  Chief  Secretary  for  Ireland  in  the  debate  on 
the  Addresii,  February,  1906. 


642    LETTEES   TO  VISCOUNT   BEYCE,  1899-1916 

delays  and  sophistries.  Never  mind  answering  this 
letter.  You  have  too  much  to  do.  But,  again,  I  say, 
God  be  with  you,  strength,  light  and  a  good  courage. 
I  saw  Horace  Plunkett  at  Oxford.  He  seems  pessimistic. 
I'm  not.  The  Tortoise  Justice  beats  the  Hare  Injustice 
in  the  end." 

"  Grasmere.    September  4,  '06. 

"  I  have  been  drifting  about  and  only  got  your  letter 
some  days  after  it  was  posted.  Hence  this  delay.  It 
would  have  interested  me  exceedingly  could  I  have  come 
to  the  Secretary's  Lodge  and  accepted  your  kind  invita- 
tion. But  I  cannot  get  to  Ireland  this  year  and  must 
gratefully  refuse.  I  should  like  to  have  been  at  the 
centre  of  the  spider's  web. 

"  I  have  been  here  for  a  day  or  two,  and  I  am  very 
glad  you  have  seen  Dove  Cottage.  It  looks  well  and 
happy,  does  it  not  ? 

"  Amid  all  the  wild  confusion  of  races,  religions  and 
parties  in  Ireland,  there  is  one  thing  clear.  They  want 
to  manage  their  own  affairs  in  their  own  way — even  the 
loyalists  ?  want  that.  And  they  cling  to  England  because 
England  gives  them  that,  and  they  think  they  would 
lose  it  if  the  majority  had  their  way.  But  I  believe  they 
would  get  as  much  of  their  own  way  as  is  good  and 
profitable  for  them  from  the  majority.  And  the  majority 
when  they  had  power  to  manage  their  own  matters  would 
have  the  common  sense  to  do  it  in  subordination  to  the 
Imperial  idea.  The  body  of  them  are  much  too  wise  to 
separate  from  or  to  quarrel  with  England.  AVhere  Eng- 
lish policy  is  stupid  is  that  it  does  not  trust  enough  in 
the  common  sense  and  goodness  of  that  human  nature 
which  is — in  many  universal  things — the  same  all  over 
the  world. 

"  I've  no  doubt  that  Ireland,  with  Home  Eule  would 
make  'howling'  mistakes  and  enter  recklessly  into 
follies,  but  the  mistakes  would  be  her  own  and  the 
follies — and  as  such  would  be  cured—just  as  young 
men  cure  theirs.     And  they  would  learn  every  day 


ENGLAND   AND   IRELAND  G43 

instead  of  learning  nothing  but  how  to  fight,   as  at 
present. 

"  But  if  you  give,  give  frankly  and  generously  and 
with  as  few  conditions  as  possible.  And  oh  remember 
that  you  have  kept  them  in  something  like  slavery  for 
centuries,  and  that  they  have  something  of  the  taint  of 
slavery  on  their  minds — and  that  it  will  take  at  least 
three  generations  for  them  to  unlearn  its  evils.  When 
the  Israelites  left  Egypt,  they  could  not  conquer  Canaan 
till  all  the  old  men  and  women  who  had  lived  under 
oppression  had  died  out  in  the  forty  years'  wandering. 
Let  England  have  patience.  She  has  in  many  ways 
rotted  away  the  soul  of  the  Irish  people.  It  will  recover 
from  rot  in  liberty,  but  it  will  take  a  long  time  and  the 
people  will  often  be  very  wild  and  foolish.  That  will  not 
be  their  fault  but  the  fault  of  the  past  wrongs.  Will 
England  be  patient  of  the  temper  and  temperament  she 
has  caused  ?  I  cannot  tell.  I  wish  to  God,  for  Ireland's 
sake,  that  you  may  continue  Secretary  for  years  to  come. 
But,  I  hope,  if  so,  that  it  will  not  be  too  much  for  your 
strength.  But  you  will  keep  well  if  you  do  not  make 
too  great  haste.    He  that  believeth,  etc," 

"  London.    March  22,  '07. 

"  .  .  .1  hoped  to  have  seen  you  before  your  departure,^ 
but  it  was  too  much  to  expect.  You  must  have  been 
furiously  rushed.  And  now  how  do  you  like  it  ?  Is  it 
pleasant  to  be  out  of  Ireland  and  in  a  world  so  different 
on  one  side,  so  little  different  on  another  ? 

"  Birrell  is  gayer  than  you,  but  he  has  not  got  as  yet 
into  the  whirlpool.     He  will  soon  be  in  it." 

"  Grasmere.     Soptomber,  '08. 

"  I  have  not  answered  your  letter,  not  knowing  where 
to  send  a  reply  ;  but  you  tell  me  you  will  be  in  London 
at  your  sisters'  house  a  few  days  before  the  12th,  so  I 
seize  this  certainty  of  finding  you.  I  wish  I  were  going 
to  see  you,  but  that  is  not  on  the  cards.     Here  I  am,  in 

'  Departure  for  America  to  take  up  the  duties  of  Ambassador  at 
Washington. 


644    LETTERS   TO  VISCOUNT  BRYCE,  1899-1916 

the  ancient  quiet  of  this  place,  with  Wordsworth's  spirit 
mooning  about  the  meadows  and  the  murmur  of  the 
Rothay  in  my  ears,  half  in  flood  as  it  is  to-day,  for  the 
rain  falls  heavily  and  all  the  hills  are  black  in  the  cloud 
gatherings.  I  have  been  at  Ravenscar,  between  Whitby 
and  Scarborough,  on  the  edge  of  a  cliff  600  feet  above 
the  sea,  and  the  moorland  within  a  stroll.  A  lonely 
place — no  cars,  carriages,  trippers,  noise  or  bustle,  only 
a  wind  that  never  ceased  and  drove  freshness  into  the 
blood,  until  I  longed  for  some  peace,  and  have  found  it 
here,  but  with  rain  enough  to  temper  one's  pleasure. 
Your  letter,  telling  me  that  you  liked  what  I  had  written 
gave  me  much  delight.  I  enjoyed  writing  of  Morris,^ 
and  he  seemed  to  be  with  me  while  I  wrote  of  him.  I 
have  always  liked  Clough  better  than  others  who  have 
expressed  surprise  that  I  wrote  about  him  at  all.  That 
fine,  sub-gentle,  surface-dabbling  spirit  of  his  does  not 
belong  to  the  modern  poets  who  must  run  glittering  '  in 
the  open  sunlight  or  they  are  unblest.'  He  did  not  ask 
himself  why  he  wrote,  but  just  wrote  out  of  his  soul 
which  was  always  roving  through  little  woods  of  thought 
where  pleasant  streams  made  a  quiet  noise ;  and  he 
didn't  care  a  withered  leaf  what  the  world  thought  of 
him.  I  do  not  like  the  Hexameters  of  the  Bothy,  but  if 
you  do,  I  must  be  wrong.  I  like  that  of  the  Amours  cle 
Voyage.^  And  I  was  glad  to  write  about  Scott  whom  I 
love.  As  to  Shelley,  he  is  by  himself  as  a  Poet.  So,  of 
course,  is  every  poet,  but  Shelley  is  not  only  Shelley 
but  Epi-Shelley,  himself  on  himself  out  of  himself. 

"  I  can  tell  you  nothing  about  German  feeling  towards 
England.  Homburg  in  August  is  Anglicised.  I  asked 
my  doctor  about  this  apparent  bitterness  to  England. 
He  said  it  didn't  exist  except  in  certain  newspapers 
which  no  one  minded,  but  he  was  very  reticent.  Doctors 
at  Homburg  who  have  to  see  men  of  all  nations,  never 
commit  themselves,  but  I  really  found  no  anger  against 

1  The  reference  is  to  "Four  Poets:  a  study  of  Clough,  Arnold, 
Bossetti  and  Morris,"     1908. 

2  "As  it  happens,"  writes  Lord  Bryce,  "I  entirely  agree  with  his 
preference  of  the  hexameters  of  Amours  de  Voyage  to  those  of  the 
Bothy." 


CURRENT   POLITICS  645 

England.  I  expect  it  is  mostly  among  'savants'  and 
business  men,  and  a  certain  set  among  the  politicians, 
but  the  literary,  scientific  philosophers  seem  to  me  the 
worst.  As  to  the  Journalists,  they  follow  the  day.  The 
best  intellects  seem  the  worst  stirrers  of  strife,  and  it  is 
quite  deplorable.  Was  anything  like  that  your  experi- 
ence at  Jena  ^  where  I  saw  you  had  been.  I  am  well, 
but  off  and  on  feel  old.  Again  I  say  I  wish  I  could  see 
more  of  you,  for  you  bring  a  breeze  of  life  with  you. 
I'm  glad  you  are  in  America,  and  trust  you  will  knit 
the  good  sense  of  the  country  closer  and  closer  to 
England.  ...     As  to  Birrell,  the  Lord  help  him." 

"  London.    Jiily  14,  '09. 

"  Indeed  it  is  a  long  time,  since  you  were  here  in 
England,  that  I  have  heard  nothing  of  you,  save  through 
the  Press,  and  you  nothing  of  me — and  I  think  it  has 
been  my  fault,  for  you  have  two  worlds  on  your  shoulders, 
to  say  nothing  of  Canada,  and  I  have  only  one  house 
and  one  daughter,  and  some  old  age.  Therefore  I  ought 
to  have  written.  But  since  last  Christmas  I  have  not 
been  well  except  at  intervals,  and  most  disinclined  for 
writing  either  books  or  letters.  I'm  off  to  Homburg  and 
then  to  Switzerland  in  a  fortnight ;  but  when  you  are 
impelled  to  write  to  me  Manchester  Square  will  find  me. 
I  don't  think  I  have  really  done  anything  except  preach- 
ing a  bit  in  Oxford  and  London  and  painting  a  little  for 
personal  amusement.  My  brains,  after  two  attacks  of 
influenza,  left  me,  and  wandered  vaguely  into  space,  and 
are  only  now  beginning  to  return,  in  relays,  like  the 
Boer  prisoners,  to  their  home.  I  wish  they  could  tell 
me  where  they  have  been  and  what  they  have  seen.  I 
have  little  to  do  with  politics,  and  take  no  part  in 
them,  am  only  an  interested  onlooker,  but  I  wish  I 
were  25,  and  could  join  in  the  fray — but  not  in  Parlia- 
ment. Much  better  work  can  be  done  outside.  I  am 
rejoiced  that  after  50  years  of  waiting  I  have  lived  to 

•  This  is  a  mistake.  Mi-  Bryce  had  not  been  at  Jena  in  1908,  but 
had  about  that  time  received  an  honorary  degree,  in  absence,  from  the 
University  there. 


646    LETTEKS   TO  VISCOUNT  BRYCE,  1899-1916 

see  the  land-monopoly  attacked  ^  at  last.  Once  begun  it 
will  go  on,  even  if  this  attack  should  be  whittled  away  to 
a  thin  line :  and  the  working  classes  are  beginning,  only 
beginning  as  yet,  to  be  moved  in  a  sensible  way,  to  the 
importance  of  this  question.  It  is  said  that  the  Budget 
will  get  through,  with  concessions,  that  the  Lords  will 
not  face  a  deadlock  by  amending  or  rejecting  it.  But 
the  real  struggle  is  between  Free  Trade  and  Tariff 
Reform.  The  desperate  fight  the  minority  are  making 
is  caused  by  the  knowledge  that  if  the  Budget  passes 
Tariff  Reform  is  doomed.  As  to  the  German  scare, 
it  is  chiefly  in  the  Press,  and  among  folk  who  live 
in  glooms.  But  there  is  a  fierce  desire,  almost  every- 
where, to  pile  the  Navy  up  and  up.  I  expect  the  Govern- 
ment have  a  trump  card  up  their  sleeve,  and  will  dis- 
close a  new  kind  of  ship  which  they  are  laying  down 
much  more  powerful  than  Dreadnoughts.  I  think  the 
world  is  mad  for  a  time.  This  much  good  the  Scare  has 
done  that  it  has  somewhat  convinced  England  that  she 
has  too  much  settled  on  her  lees,  and  needs  to  renew 
her  soul.  It  is  that  she  wants,  not  compulsory  service, 
though  indeed  I  would  teach  the  boys  in  every  national 
school  drill  and  shooting.  Still,  there  is  movement  every- 
where, and  thinking.  I'm  not  optimistic,  but  I  am  in 
good  hope  for  the  country. 

"I  hope  you  have  kept  those  lectures  on  the  New 
Testament  ethics  ^ — though  it  was  not  ethics  that  Christ 
preached.  I  should  like  to  see  them.  The  laity  have 
taken  up  the  subject  here  and  are  discussing  it  with  a 
laic  freedom  which  keeps  the  Bishops  and  the  N.C. 
orthodox  in  a  nervous  storm.  Convocation  has  relegated 
the  Athanasian  Creed  to  an  historical  document  place 
in  the  Prayer  Book,  and  Bottomley — imagine  that — is 
anxious  about  it ;  wants  to  know  if  this  must  be  sub- 
mitted to  Parliament.  I  wonder  if  it  is  a  joke  he  is 
trying  to  make.     Non  istis  defensoribus,  etc.     I  wish  I 

*  Probably  a  reference  to  epeeches  delivered  by  Mr  Lloyd  George 
on  the  land  question. 

-  Lectures  delivered  by  Mr  Bryce  on  the  Relation  of  Ethics  to 
Religion. 


FRANCIS   PALGRAVE  647 

were  with  you  for  a  short  time  on  that  coast.  It  would 
do  me  good  to  see  you  and  to  hear  you.  Yes,  I  read 
Murray's  book  ^  with  great  interest  and  pleasure.  But  I 
liked  the  beginning  better  than  the  end." 

"  Loudon.    December  29,  '10. 

"  It  was  delightful  to  see  you,  and  you  were  as 
stimulating  as  ever.  I  suppose  all  those  small  repub- 
lics^ did  your  health  good,  indirectly.  I  forgot  some 
things.  I  shamefully  forgot  to  ask  after  Mrs  Bryce. 
Will  you  give  her  my  most  sincere  regards,  and  my 
desire  that  she  may  have  a  very  happy  New  Year.  I 
forgot  to  ask  where  you  were  staying.  And  Evelyn 
blames  me  for  forgetting  to  ask  your  opinion  of  the 
'  Crisis.'  ^  I  told  her  that  I  was  too  pleased  to  see  you 
to  bother  about  Vetos  and  the  rest  of  it.  We  discussed, 
I  said,  matters  of  more  importance — landscape  and 
poetry. 

**  My  real  reason  for  writing  is  to  tell  you  that  Frank 
Palgrave  delivered  lectures  at  Oxford  on  Landscape  in 
Poetry,  and  published  them  with  Macmillan  in  1897. 
It  might  be  worth  your  getting.  His  range — from 
Greece  to  Wordsworth  was  too  large  for  an  intimate 
study  of  the  subject,  and  the  book  is  often  superficial, 
but  the  English  part  might  give  you  many  hints." 

"London.    December  15, '11. 

"  This  Christmas  time  I  must  write  to  you  to  wish 
3'ou  and  Mrs  Bryce  a  happy  time,  and  many  blessings 
from  Him  who  visited  us  at  this  season,  and  is  with  us 
now,  after  so  many  years  the  same.  I  hear  of  you  now 
and  again  from  other  quarters  than  the  journals,  and 
of  late  I  have  often  thought  of  you  with  a  timelong 
affection.  So  many  of  those  whom  I  have  known  and 
loved  are  gone  away  that  I  seem  to  cling  all  the  more  to 
those  who  remam,  and  some  way  or  other  I  have  lived 

1  "  The  Rise  of  the  Greek  Epic." 

«  The  Republics  of  Spanish  America  which  Mr  Bryce  had  been 
visiting. 

5  The  crisis  between  the  House  of  Commons  and  the  House  of 
Lords. 

VOL.    II.  U 


648    LETTERS   TO  VISCOUNT   BRYCE,  1899-1916 

apart  from  the  new  world  and  made  few  new  friends. 
The  store  of  them  I  have  may  be  great  in  heaven,  but  it 
is  small  on  earth.  This  is  a  melancholy  strain,  but  I 
have  felt  my  age  this  year  more  than  usual,  nor  have 
I  been  able  to  get  about  much  even  in  the  country 
where,  in  Surrey,  I  have  built  a  cottage  high  on  the 
ridge  of  sandstone  which  looks  over  the  Weald  and  the 
bordering  hills.  I  see  right  away  to  the  Downs  above 
Brighton,  and  on  the  right  Hindhead  and  Hascombe 
and  round  by  the  Hog's  Back  near  Guildford.  Stopford 
is  ten  minutes  away  and  Evelyn  and  I  have  amused 
ourselves  in  making  a  garden  out  of  our  three  acres  of 
meadow.  Two  great  beeches  keep  guard  over  us,  and 
all  round  are  the  woods,  and  our  gate  opens  on  to  the 
moor  of  heather  and  birch  and  pine.  For  me  who  have 
never  before,  in  England,  lived  through  the  spring,  it 
was  like  being  reborn.  And  we  had  a  summer  of  divine 
heat  and  open  skies,  and  I  felt  the  Motherhood  of  the 
Earth  and  the  All-Fatherhood  of  the  Sky  till  I  became, 
at  passing  hours,  a  bit  of  the  primaeval  man.  And  now 
I  am  in  London.  'When  I  was  at  home  I  was  in  a 
better  place.'     London  gnaws  at  my  body  and  soul. 

"  How  are  you  ?  Content  with  work,  alive  to  all  the 
world.  It  is  a  pleasure  to  have  known  you.  I  have 
always  loved  eagerness.  Sometimes  I  wonder  what  you 
have  thought  of  all  our  doings  this  year  and  last  year. 
We  have  begun  ^  that  which  will  increase  like  a  snow- 
ball, and  though  many  mistakes  such  as  are  native  to 
beginnings  will  claim  correction,  the  movement  will  go 
on,  and  grow  in  the  general  mind  of  England.  I  did 
not  think  I  should  live  to  see  its  Genesis.  What  courage 
the  Ministry  has  had  !  I  don't  remember  such  boldness 
in  History.  Or  will  you  call  it  rashness?  At  least,  the 
battle  is  set  in  array  and  clearly.  You  in  the  United 
States  seem  to  be  in  another  battle  on  which  you  look  as 
a  spectator — in  what  way  and  mood  I  wonder." 

*  Probably  refers  to  the  general  movement  for  social  reform  in 
England. 


"  HOMELESS  "  649 

"  The  Four  Winds.     Soptomboi-  25,  '13. 

"  I  must  write  a  little  line  to  you  to  say  how  much 
I  enjoyed  your  visit.  It  was  like  a  day  of  sunshine  and 
was  charged  with  a  thousand  memories.  But  also  I  want 
to  say  how  much  I  was  impressed,  when  seeing  you,  by 
the  conviction  that  you  needed  a  long  rest — a  bodily 
rest.  I  am  sure  you  ought  to  go  to  the  country,  and 
slumber  out  some  quiet  days.  Evca'y  feature  of  your 
face,  your  attitudes,  the  way  you  moved  and  sat  on  your 
chair ;  the  whole  man  of  you  cried  out  for  rest,  nerve- 
rest,  vegetative  life  for  a  time.  I  am  sure  a  doctor  would 
tell  you  this.  I  believe  that  unless  you  take  a  rest  now, 
you  will  regret  your  unwisdom  all  the  remainder  of  your 
life.     Rest,  please,  rest." 

"London.     March  21, '14. 

"  This  is  to  wish  you  good  luck  and  happiness  in 
Palestine.  I  should  like  to  be  twenty  years  younger 
and  to  be  going  with  you.  It  would  make  me  happier 
to  be  in  that  sacred  land  where  He  walked  and  loved  the 
world.  But  all  is  changed  there  even  by  the  Lake 
of  Galilee.  Manchester  Square  is  now  quite  dismantled, 
and  we  are  here  for  a  time  in  Stopford's  London  house. 
I  don't  like  the  weather ;  it  plays  the  Harlequin  with 
me.  But  the  worst  is  the  homelessness  of  it  all.  I 
can't  get  away  to  the  Four  Winds  till  next  week,  if  then. 
I  dare  not  look  at  the  Square,  and  this  house  is  only  half 
furnished.  There  is  no  Heimlichkeit  in  all  the  world. 
Make  my  affectionate  compliments  to  Lady  Bryce  and  I 
am  ever  affectionately  yours." 

"  London.     February  11,  '15. 

"  We  cannot  come  on  Monday.  Some  folk  are  lunch- 
ing here  on  Monday.  I  wish  I  could  put  them  off  but  I 
cannot  manage  that.  Rawlinson  ^  was  here  about  a  week 
ago.  I  am  much  better  to-day,  but  I  have  been  anything 
but  well  for  ten  days. 

"  Stuart  Reid  was  much  gratified  by  his  interview 

'  An  authority  on  Turner  and  the  Liber  Studiorum,  an  old  friend 
of  Brook*. 


650    LETTERS   TO  VISCOUNT  BRYCE,  1899-1916 

with  you.  I've  read  your  pamphlets.^  One  is  so  plainly 
obsessed  by  a  special  theological  bias  with  its  attendant 
set  of  morals  that  I  should  doubt  all  its  conclusions.  As 
to  the  other,  it  is,  I  think,  one  of  the  most  interesting 
brochures  I  have  read  on  the  subject  of  Germany  and 
France,  and  on  Germany's  view  of  her  relation  to  the 
world.  And  it  is  so  '  suivi '  that  it  is  pleasant  reading 
and  I  was  specially  struck  by  his  theory  that  Germany 
had  no  history  and  no  existence  as  a  Race.  It  was  only 
a  State.  Is  that  historically  true?  If  true,  it  would 
explain  a  great  deal.  I  keep  these  things  for  you  or 
shall  I  send  them  back  ?  I  am  only  now  getting  into  a 
normal  condition  of  health.  .  .  .  We  are  going  back  to 
Surrey  this  month.  Some  day,  you  will,  and,  I  hope. 
Lady  Bryce,  come  down  and  see  us  when  the  days  are 
decent.  Have  you  seen  that  *  Jerahmeel '  is  dead  ?  Poor 
Cheyne  !  It  is  really  almost  funny  that  he  should  have 
all  his  later  life  been  obsessed  by  an  invention  of  his 
own,  by  a  phantom  of  his  own  creation,  by  the  existence 
of  a  tribe  which  had  no  existence. 

"  This  letter  began  on  the  11th.  It  is  now  dated  the 
17th. 

"  Ever  affectionately  yours." 

"  Kensington.  January  19,  '16. 
"We  are  in  London  for  a  fortnight  at  17,  Abingdon 
Court,  Kensington,  a  short  distance  from  High  Street 
Station.  I  wonder  if,  by  any  happy  chance,  you  might 
be  in  Kensington  some  day  and  would  look  in  on  me. 
I  would  love  to  see  you,  but  I  know  how  busy  you  are 
and  how  necessary  to  mankind.  Ever  so  many  thanks 
for  your  letter  to  me  which  was  and  is  dear  to  me."  ^t 

1  Pamphlets,  one  of  them  anonymous,  describing  recent  German 
political  thought. 

2  Lord  Bryce  writes  ;  "  This  was  the  last  I  ever  received  from  him. 
A  few  days  after  getting  it  I  saw  him,  for  the  last  time,  at  Abingdon 
Court,  in  good  spirits,  and  with  his  usual  brightness  and  swiftness  of 
mind." 


CHAPTER  XXXrV 

HIS    THOUGHTS    ON    THE    GREAT   WAR 

The  tempest  of  war  which  fell  upon  Europe  in  1914  had 
a  strange  effect  upon  him.  There  were  times  when  it 
affected  him  as  it  affects  us  all,  and  the  horror  of  it  lay 
heavy  on  his  soul.  But  at  other  times  the  war  seemed 
to  him  to  be  part  of  a  phantasmal  world,  and  he  cast  the 
thought  of  it  out  of  his  soul.  The  feeling  he  had  so 
often  expressed,  that  the  things  of  time  and  sense  are 
illusory,  and  that  the  real  life  is  beyond  them,  grew 
stronger,  and  gave  him  a  certain  comfort  in  the  midst 
of  the  storm.  He  saw  phantom-worship  at  the  root  of 
it  all,  and  the  thing  itself  was  a  nightmare  to  be  shaken 
off.  Or  again,  he  would  look  at  the  war  from  an  im- 
mense distance,  as  one  might  look  at  a  planet  in  space, 
and  lose  the  sense  of  its  horror.  In  his  diary  for  1907 
he  describes  this  state  of  mind. 

"  I  sat  for  a  long  time  in  the  shade  of  the  pine  wood 
this  morning  and  looked  at  the  Weisshorn.  Nothing 
could  be  seen  more  calm,  more  silent  than  those  valleys 
of  snow  and  rocky  peaks.  Yet  I  knew  that  among  them 
was  an  incessant  noise  of  falling  stones,  and  at  intervals 
the  thunder  of  avalanches,  and  that  it  was  not  peace  there 
but  devastating  war.  So  to  the  spirits  at  rest  may  seem 
this  earth  so  ravaged  by  noise  and  war." 

It  was  entirely  characteristic  of  him  that  no  sooner 
had  war  broken  out  than  he  embarked  on  a  plan  for 


652    HIS   THOUGHTS   ON   THE   GREAT  WAR 

enlarging  his  house.  He  was  well  aware  of  the  reasons 
which  prudence  urged  to  the  contrary,  but  he  despised 
them  and  tossed  them  aside  with  a  wave  of  his  hand. 
**  It  will  give  employment  to  a  builder  whom  the  war  is 
depriving  of  his  trade.  Besides,  why  should  the  things 
of  beauty  suffer  because  the  devils  have  entered  into  the 
swine  ?  " 

The  Great  War  did  not  surprise  him.  A  sense  of 
impending  catastrophe  had  been  with  him  for  years. 
Industrial  civilization  as  it  exists  to-day  he  regarded  as 
based  on  covetousness  and  doomed  to  destruction  by  the 
very  process  which  had  created  it.  Again  and  again  he 
had  predicted  that  the  immense  accumulations  of  wealth 
in  Europe  and  America  would  sooner  or  later  give  rise  to 
plunder  and  rapine  on  an  enormous  scale — what  else 
indeed  could  be  the  result  so  long  as  the  root  of  covetous- 
ness was  uncut  ?  That  Germany  would  play  the  part  of 
chief  plunderer  he  had  not  anticipated,  though  as  the 
years  went  on  under  the  regime  of  William  II  he  greatly 
modified  the  hopes  which  he  had  entertained  of  Prussia 
in  1870.  His  opinion  was  that  the  industrial  system 
would  go  to  pieces  under  the  shock  of  civil  war,  and  he 
expected  that  the  beginning  would  be  made  in  America. 
When  the  European  war  broke  out  he  said  to  me — "  The 
end  is  coming  otherwise  than  I  thought.  But  it  is  coming 
all  the  same.  Covetousness  will  have  to  be  rooted  out  of 
the  earth." 

The  diaries  repeat  this  thought  again  and  again. 
For  example : — 

Jan.  1, 1898.  "  Men  look  forward  to  a  universal  war, 
and  now  that  self-interest,  that  is  the  Devil  himself,  is 
believed  to  be  the  paramount  and  practical  law  of  life, 
there  is  nothing  else  to  look  for.  Perhaps  we  may  need 
the  horrors  of  a  universal  war  to  teach  poor  blundering 


DESTRUCTIVE  INVENTIONS  653 

mankind  that  self-interest  is  not  the  master  idea  of 
nations,  but  their  degradation  and  destruction.  It  is 
terrible  that  such  lessons  need  to  be  taught  by  the  crime 
of  war.  There  is  the  real  problem  for  thought,  and  it 
involves  both  God  and  man." 

Six  years  before  the  outbreak  of  war  he  wrote  thus — 

October  28,  1908.  '*  I  read  Wells'  War  in  the  Air— a. 
terrible  but  quite  possible  outlook.  I've  always  said  that 
in  a  decent,  civilized  society,  science  should  be  bridled 
towards  the  good  of  that  society.  Every  invention  that 
should  minister  to  the  pleasure,  comfort,  harmony  of 
nations,  to  their  bringing  together,  to  increase  of  the 
arts  and  wisdom  of  life  should  be  rewarded  by  all  the 
civilized  peoples ;  but  every  invention  of  the  means  of 
destruction,  or  of  injury,  of  things  that  minister  to  the 
sellishuess  and  greed  of  men  should  be,  by  general  con- 
sent, destroyed,  its  revival  prohibited  on  pain  of  death, 
and  its  inventor  slain.  But,  if  any  king  or  nation,  using 
ah'-ships,  for  example,  were  to  initiate  the  atrocious 
crime  of  attacking  another,  for  the  sake  of  extending 
its  power,  there  is  no  secret  of  science  which  I  should 
not  use  against  such  an  enemy.  There  are  gases,  e.g., 
which  could  easily  be  used  against  a  foe,  and  which  would 
blot  out  a  million  of  men  in  half  an  hour.  But  war, 
such  as  it  is  now,  is  not  only  a  crime,  it  is  the  worst  of 
follies.  x\nd  it  ought  to  be  impossible.  If  it  is  not  soon 
rendered  so,  the  whole  fabric  of  civilization  will  be  ex- 
punged, and  Europe  will  go  back  to  savage  conditions. 
It  will  need  no  God's  interference  to  put  an  end  to  our 
vile  society.  It  will  destroy  itself.  And  the  destruction 
will  be  the  work  of  modern  science." 

I  recall  the  tenor  of  many  conversations  I  had  with 
him  in  his  later  life  on  the  present  state  of  civilization, 
and  what  I  have  to  record  of  them  will  be  found  con- 
firmed by  the  extracts  from  diaries  and  letters  given  in 
this  book.    On  these  occasions  all  his  gaiety  left  him, 


654  HIS  THOUGHTS  ON  THE  GREAT  WAR 

his  manner  became  that  of  the  Prophet  Amos,  and  there 
came  into  his  speech  a  note  of 

"  ancestral  voices  prophesying  war." 

Of  all  the  conversations  I  had  with  Stopford  Brooke,  none, 
I  think,  were  quite  as  solemn  as  these.  They  have  left 
a  very  deep  impression  on  my  memory. 

He  had  lived  long  enough  to  see  the  rise  and  fall  of 
many  gospels,  social  idealisms,  and  bold  attempts  to 
mend  the  world.  He  had  seen  great  ideas,  and  great 
reforms,  wrecked  by  factious  oppositions,  or  held  in 
suspense  by  criticism  so  long  that  many  had  grown 
weary  to  hear  of  them  and  lost  faith  in  their  efScacy. 
For  two  generations  he  had  watched  many  an  old  evil 
holding  its  ground  and  new  ones  gathering  head,  and 
this  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  both  old  and  new  were 
under  constant  denunciation  and  attack  from  every  man 
and  woman  who  had  a  sane  sense  of  the  value  of  human 
life.  If  discussion  could  destroy  them,  if  societies  and 
committees  and  books  and  propaganda  and  political 
agitation  could  root  them  out,  then  surely,  he  thought, 
their  end  should  have  come  long  ago.  Mightier  forces 
than  these  were  needed.  And  he  believed  they  would 
come  from  within.  The  civilization  which  is  based  on 
wealth  would  burst  from  the  fermentation  of  its  own 
rottenness.  Wealth  would  destroy  wealth,  and  the 
process  would  begin  when  civilization,  aided  by  science, 
had  grown  sufficiently  wealthy  to  supply  itself  with  the 
vast  armaments  needed  for  the  work  of  self-destruction. 
The  present  form  of  society  would  go  up  in  flame  and 
smoke.    After  that  a  better  age  would  dawn. 


THE   KAISER'S   CRIME  655 

Letters   Referring   to   the   Great  War 

To  Mrs  T.  W.  Rolleston. 

"  The  Four  Winds.    August  5,  1914. 

"...  What  a  dreadful  business  this  is.  It  weighs 
on  me  day  and  night.  It  is  a  shameful  crime  to  have 
started  it,  and  I  am  afraid  it  has  been  deliberately 
planned  and  done  by  Germany.  I  hope  not,  but  I  am 
afraid  it  is  true,  and  I  am  more  sorry,  if  it  be  true,  than 
I  can  say.  But  I  cannot  speak  of  it.  I  had  hoped  we 
could  have  remained  neutral,  but  we  could  not  have  done 
that  without  disgrace  and  ruin  afterwards.  But  it  was 
not  without  something  like  agony  of  mind  that  I  felt  we 
must  go  to  war." 

To  his  daughter  Honor. 

"August  5,  1914. 

"...  It  was  impossible  not  to  agree  to  England's 
declaration  of  war  after  hearing  Sir  E.  Grey's  account 
of  the  conduct  and  policy  of  Germany.  I  am  bitterly 
sorry  for  the  German  people,  the  bulk  of  whom  hate 
war,  and  will  suffer  innocently ;  but  the  Emperor  and 
the  war-party  and  the  financiers,  who  will  sacrifice  count- 
less lives  and  the  prosperity  of  their  country  for  the  sake 
of  problematical  Power,  and  to  satisfy  the  thirst  for  war- 
like fame,  have  committed  a  dreadful  crime,  and  their 
punishment  will  not  equal  their  crime,  even  if  it  is 
terrible.  .  .  .  But  I  hope  that,  at  the  end  of  this,  all 
autocratic  governments  will  be  annihilated.  ..." 

To  Professor  William  Knight. 

"  Octobor,  1914. 

"...  It  will  be  most  interesting  to  have  your  book  on 
Immortality,  and  I  hope  it  will  soon  be  out.  One  would 
think  that  thousands  who  have  lost  their  loved  ones  in 
this  war  would  eagerly  read  such  a  book.  One  of  the 
results  of  all  this  slaughter  will  be  the  recovery  of  faith 


656    HIS   THOUGHTS  ON   THE   GREAT  WAR 

in  immortal  life.  There  will  be  a  passionate  desire  that 
it  should  be  true.  Poor,  poor  people,  Germans  and 
French  and  Belgians  and  the  rest,  flung  in  torture  out 
of  this  world !  What  are  we  to  think  of  it,  if  all  that 
love  ends  for  ever  ! 

"  Yet,  really,  to  leave  a  world  gone  mad,  and  engaged 
in  the  greatest  absurdity  and  foolishness  which  ever  was 
in  history,  because  one  man  and  his  crew  wanted  to  play 
with  power, — to  leave  all  this  and  get  into  peace,  or  even 
annihilation  would  seem  to  be  advisable. 

"  I  am  glad  you  liked  my  letter,  and  I  liked  yours." 

To  Mrs  T.  W.  Rollesion. 

"  October  6,  1914. 

"...  No  one  knows  in  England  of  the  gulf  between 
the  official,  literary  and  philosophical  folk  [in  Germany], 
and  the  unofficial  poets  and  writers  who  live  for  liberty 
of  thought,  who  may  yet,  after  the  cataclysm,  save  the 
country.  ...  As  to  the  war — it  is  the  vast,  the  incom- 
prehensible absurdity  of  it  all  which  affects  me  the  most. 
I  cannot  get  rid  of  that." 

To  Mrs  L.  P.  Jacks. 

"  October,  1914. 

"...  So  M.^  is  going  into  the  Army.  I'm  sorry  for  it, 
even  if  the  war  is  over  before  he  is  fit  to  go.  But  if  he 
has  a  real  desire  for  it,  a  call  from  the  inside  of  him,  I 
will  say  or  think  nothing  against  it.  To  me  it  seems 
wastage,  but  do  not  say  to  him  I  said  so.  Often  I  cannot 
realize  the  miseries  when  I  sit  at  night  in  the  quiet  of 
the  moon  and  the  windless  trees,  and  I  feel  ashamed  that 
I  am  at  peace,  and  then  again  I  am  sick  with  sorrow, 
and  with  hatred,  again,  of  those  who  have  made  these 
villainies.  When  Germany  finds  out  that  its  ideas  are 
vile,  and  discovers  that  its  rulers  have  deceived  them 
with  lies  and  ruined  the  land — what  will  the  poor 
people  do?" 

^  His  grandson. 


HIS   LOATHING   OF   WAR  657 

To  his  sister  Cecilia. 

"  November  18,  1914. 

"...  How  I  loathe  this  war !  even  though  it  is  Christ 
against  Belial.  Yet,  it  has  come  because  for  years  society 
has  been  eminently  Anti-Christian  at  almost  every  point. 
Now  it  must  be  fought  out.  The  Devil  said  to  the  Kaiser, 
showing  him  the  kingdoms  of  the  world — 'All  these 
things  will  I  give  you  if  you  will  worship  me— that 
is — use  devilish  means,  force  and  fraud,  to  gain  your 
ends.'  And  the  Kaiser  yielded  to  the  tempter.  Would 
that  Christ  had  been  at  his  elbow  !  " 

To  Mrs  Arnold  Glover. 

"November  16,  1914. 

"...  You  wrote  to  me  a  delightful  letter,  and  I  felt  in 
a  great  harmony  with  all  you  said  about  the  war.  It  is 
fortunate  in  this  welter  of  hideous  folly  that  Nature  is 
still  quiet  and  wise  and  lovely,  for  at  times  I  seem  to 
despair  of  humanity.  After  all  these  thousand  years  of 
history — to  come  to  this !  What  is  ideal  and  noble  in 
war  does  not  excuse  war,  it  only  modifies  its  evil. 

"  Like  you,  I  want  to  help  our  own  working  people 
thrown  out  of  employment,  and  who  are  likely,  in  the 
immense  appeal  made  by  wounded  and  Belgians,  to  be 
quite  neglected.  That  is  the  reason  I  give  employment 
here,  and  orders  to  organisations  like  yours  to  help  the 
working  girls.  Tell  me  how  I  can  go  on  doing  this. 
What  do  you  want  ordered  for  the  front  or  things  at 
home  which  will  not  interfere  with  the  daily  labour  of 
others  ?    And  I  will  send  you  what  money  I  can." 

To  Miss  Guest. 

"November  17, 1914. 
"  I  was  glad  to  see  your  handwriting.  .  .  .  And  good 
reading  it  was — wise  and  patient  and  believing.  It  is 
well  with  you,  thank  God,  though  all  the  world  is 
surging  with  folly.  We  are  right  in  this  war,  but  what 
is  one  to  say  of  a  humanity  which  after  thousands  of 


658    HIS   THOUGHTS   ON   THE   GEEAT  WAR 

years  can  only  settle  the  doctrine  that  Might  is  not 
Right  at  the  expense  of  a  million  lives  of  men  who 
ought  to  live  and  beget  children  and  produce  wealth  for 
the  comfort  and  culture  of  the  race !  It  darkens  the 
past  and  the  future  to  think  of  this  day  by  day.  Here 
we  are  at  peace.  The  Weald  lies  at  our  feet  outspread  in 
quiet  under  the  stars.  Jupiter  commands  the  heavens 
night  after  night,  and  knows  nothing  of  our  brawls.  It 
is  difficult  to  believe  that  some  sixty  miles  only  away, 
agony  is  in  full  blast." 

To  W.  Rothenstein 

"  November  18, 1914. 

"...  [winter]  has  come  now ;  all  the  fields  are  white 
with  frost,  and  put  me  in  mind  of  the  righteousness  of 
the  Saints  from  which  I  am  so  far  exiled.  And  the  trees 
are  naked,  and  the  N.B.  wind  whistles  through  them, 
and  only  a  dozen  of  the  roses  are  left,  and  my  own  soul 
shivers  with  thoughts  of  the  poor  fellows  freezing  in  the 
trenches.  I  hate  the  talk  about  the  war  as  if  it  were  a 
show,  and  not  a  battle  of  all  the  Ideas  of  true  '  Culture  ' 
against  the  false — a  world-wide  Tragedy.  And  when  it 
is  over,  and  we  have  won,  shall  we  have  the  old  villainy 
over  again?    We  shall,  unless  we  have  Equality.  ..." 

To  Mrs  Arnold  Glover 

"  April  3, 1915. 

"  Christ  ist  erstanden.  I  send  you  the  old  German  cry 
on  Easter  Day  which  they  have  replaced  by  the  cry  of 
Hate — Gott  strafe  England.  We  might  say  with  more 
Justice  than  they,  Gott  strafe  Deutschland,  but  I  have 
no  heart  to  cry  it,  and  no  wish  that  Germany  should 
suffer;  I  hope  it  will  repent,  and  do  works  meet  for 
repentance,  and  the  first  of  those  will  be  the  doing  away 
of  her  present  government  with  all  its  ideas  and  works." 

To  Mrs  Crackanthoj'pe. 

"  April  26,  1915. 

"...  I  had  Lowes  Dickenson's  pamphlet  some  time 
ago.     Since  you  sent  it  to  me  I  have  read  it  again.     It 


CHRIST   AND  WAR  659 

is  excellent,  and  I  agree  with  all  it  says  in  the  first  part 
which  is  on  the  spiritual  aspects  of  this  war.  I  dare  say 
I  should  agree  with  the  part  on  After  the  War,  if  I  knew 
anything  about  the  questions.  "With  the  spirit  of  these 
political  arrangements  I  am  quite  in  sympathy.  But  to 
expect  any  European  agreement  on  those  lines,  unless 
the  whole  temper  of  self-interest,  which  is  now  master  of 
the  soul  of  nations  and  men,  is  changed,  is  more  than  I 
can  imagine.  I  cannot  write  on  the  matter.  I  have  no 
power  left,  but  I  wish  I  could  say  what  I  feel. 

"  I  dare  say  friends  will  be  divided,  but  frankly  I  do  not 
understand  giving  up  a  friend  because  I  differ  from  him 
or  her  in  politics  or  religion,  or  vital  questions  concern- 
ing the  truth  of  things.  ...  A  great  friend  of  mine  in 
Sweden  has  thrown  me  away  because  he  sympathises 
with  Germany.  But  I  am  as  fond  of  him  as  ever,  and 
I  think  he  ought  to  be  above  that  kind  of  thing.  I  may 
hate  what  a  man  does  and  thinks,  but  I  do  not  hate  him 
or  separate  from  his  friendship." 

To  Mr  Freare. 

"  September  19, 1915. 

"...  Your  letter  touched  me  very  much,  and  I  am 
grateful  to  you  for  writing  it  to  me,  especially  at  this 
time  when  so  much  encouragement  is  needed  in  order 
that  we  may  keep  our  heads  in  the  midst  of  a  mad  world, 
and  our  hearts  loving  and  faithful  in  a  cruel  storm  of 
hate  in  which  the  voice  of  love  seems  silenced  for  a  time. 

"  I  am  glad  I  was  able  to  make  '  Jesus  a  reality '  to 
you.  In  the  midst  of  all  these  horrors  He  is  now  the  one 
reality  to  me.  The  world  was  cruel  to  Him,  and  He  saw 
unlovingness  at  its  height  around  Him,  and  yet  He  said 
God  was  love,  and  He  could  leave  Peace  as  His  last  legacy 
to  His  people.  I  do  not  understand  how  He  could  say 
and  do  this— but  I  believe  He  was  right  and  cling  to 
that." 

To  Mrs  L.  P.  Jacks. 

"  October  9,  1915. 

"...  I  keep  thinking  continually  of  you  at  this  time, 
and  of  those  dear  boys  at  the  front  who  have  sacrificed 


660    HIS   THOUGHTS   ON   THE   GREAT  WAR 

so  much,  but  not  more  than  their  mother  and  father. 
What  the  silences,  after  heavy  fighting,  mean  to  those 
who  wait  for  news,  no  tongue  can  tell  One  has  only  to 
do  what  lies  at  hand  with  a  grim  intensity  in  order  to 
still  the  greater  intensity  within. 

"  It  often  seems  shocking  to  me  that  I  live  here  at 
peace,  but  I  am  old,  and  in  age  there  is  a  curious  apart- 
ness from  realities.  They  seem  unoutlined  and  vaporous, 
and  the  nearness  of  the  other  world  seems  to  dim  the 
intensity  of  the  misery  the  nation  of  mankind  is  suffering. 

"  October  16.  I  was  interrupted,  and  since  then  so 
many  people  have  been  here,  and  I  have  been  so  tired 
entertaining  them  that  I  have  not  written.  Since  then 
also  we  have  been  Zeppelined.  We  listened  to  the 
London  guns,  and  saw  flash  after  flash  in  the  north; 
then  came  the  loud  drumming  noise  of  some  creatures 
following  the  line  of  the  North  Downs,  and  seeming  then 
to  pass  over  our  heads,  to  pass  away  and  then  to  return. 
It  was  seen  by  F.  and  S.    I  soon  got  tired  looking  for  it." 

To  Mrs  T.  W.  RolUston. 

"October  10,  1915. 

"...  Everything,  except  our  household,  is  changing 
here,  the  flowers,  the  weather,  the  grass,  the  look  of  the 
garden,  the  trees ;  but  they  are  changing  into  a  transient 
glory,  dying  in  scarlet  and  gold  and  flaming  green,  the 
colours  of  decay  and  death.  My  feet  brush  through  the 
withered  leaves— an  elfish  tinkling  sound— and  I  am 
the  brother  of  it  all.  And  over  all  hangs  Carnage  and 
Madness  and  Misery,  made  more  dreadful  for  the  peace 
in  which  I  live.  I  think  day  by  day  of  Oliver  and 
Maurice  Jacks,  and  of  the  repression  of  anxiety  in  which 
[their  parents]  spend  their  days — and  thousands  and 
thousands  are  in  the  same  dread,  and  thousands  more, 
whose  loves  are  missing,  in  a  deeper  dread,  in  a  hope 
too  like  despair." 


TO  HIS   GRANDSON  661 

To  Miss  Gueat. 

"  December  21,  1915. 

"  Christmas  Day  ought  to  make  us  think  ourselves  into 
happiness ;  and  it  will  bring  to  you,  and  to  j^our  faithful 
spirit,  all  the  happiness  I  wish  you — the  love  of  the 
Father,  deep  communion  with  Christ— His  peace  passing 
understanding  and  His  love.  If  we  have  these  things, 
we  may  rejoice  though  the  nations  so  furiously  rage 
together,  and  the  cloud  of  pain  lies  deep  over  England  ; 
for  I  know  that  the  Lord  sitteth  above  the  Waterfloods. 
I  hope  the  day  will  be  bright  and  sunny  for  you,  and 
warm  jour  bones  and  your  heart,  and  enliven  your  soul 
with  high  thought  and  love. 

"  The  weather  has  troubled  my  old  body,  and  I  have 
many  thoughts,  yet  here  we  still  believe  in  the  coming 
of  Spring,  and  prove  our  faith  by  planting  daffodils  and 
tulips  and  roses,  and  abiding  in  their  imagined  beauty. 
I  love  to  think  of  hundreds  of  them  \vaiting  quietly  for 
their  beautiful  life,  when  they  hear  the  gay  footfall  of 
Spring,  and  hoar  her  singing  the  ancient,  ancient  Song. 
You  and  I  are  waiting  also  for  the  Resurrection  of  our 
Youth." 

To  Ids  grandson  Lieutenant  Maurice  Jacks. 

"  The  Four  Winds.    December  14, 1915. 

"...  I  am  half  sorry  this  letter  does  not  go  to  the 
front,  but  how  glad,  how  very  glad  I  am  that  it  will  find 
you  at  home,  and  for  a  time  at  peace,  out  of  those  Noises 
and  the  terrible  Patiences  of  war.  You  seem  to  be  bear- 
ing them  well,  and  yet,  how  much  you  must  hate  them. 
Out  of  that  is  the  stuff  of  heroes,  though  none  of  those 
noble  fellows  think  of  heroism  as  their  own,  but  only 
how  to  do  well  and  faithfully  the  various  claims  each  da}^ 
makes  on  them.  I  wish  I  could  think  that  the  men  who 
direct  this  splendid  material  were  more  capable  of  using 
it,  and  did  not  waste  it.  It  is  very  strange  that  after  a 
year  of  war  no  man  of  fine  military  genius  has  emerged. 
But  then  our  society,  and  especially  army-society,  will 


662    HIS   THOUGHTS   ON   THE   GREAT  WAR 

appoint  old  men  instead  of  young,  and  favourites  of 
society  instead  of  intelligent  and  far-thinking  men  who 
have  never  known  what  it  was  to  have  an  axe  to 
grind.  .  ,  .  Sometimes  I  think  I  live  in  Illusion  on 
Illusion,  and  that  angers  me,  it  seems  so  base;  but 
since  I  have  been  eighty  years  old  the  World  and 
all  that  happens  is  so  far  away  that  I  appear  to  see  it 
always  on  a  distant  dim  horizon,  on  which  a  faint  mist 
rises  and  falls — and  this  also  disturbs  my  soul." 

To  Mrs  Crackanthorpe. 

"December  26,  1915. 

"...  I've  not  read  '  The  Research  Magnificent.'  I 
like  some  of  Wells'  books.  I  detest  some  of  them.  I 
agree  with  you  about  the  Professors  on  the  War.  They 
use  it  as  a  means  to  air  their  own  thoughts  or  dreams  of 
the  present,  in  order  to  catch  repute.  I  wish  they  were 
all  in  the  trenches,  learning  what  life  is.  As  to  the 
Clergy  I  wish  they  would  try  to  be  Christian.  I  wish 
the  whole  world  would,  after  a  long,  long  period  during 
which  it  has  denied  Christ,  at  last  try  Christianity. 
Perhaps  it  will,  but  a  whole  generation  will  have  first 
to  pass  away.  At  last,  we  have  ceased  to  be  furiously 
rained  upon.  I  have  seen  islands  of  blue  sky  to-day, 
and  the  wind  has  a  touch  of  tenderness  in  it,  as  if  a 
sudden  memory  of  spring  had  invaded  it.  And  last  night 
Jupiter  burned  on  the  top  of  heaven,  and  I  saw  the 
Pleiades  play  with  one  another.  Maud  is  here  and  her 
four  children,  and  the  house  is  full  of  pleasant  noise. 
We  had  a  gay  Christmas  dinner,  much  laughter  and 
mirth,  and  interchange  of  presents,  and,  to  put  us  in 
mind  of  Germany  when  it  was  good— a  Christmas-tree. 
So,  we  are  quite  seasonable,  and  have  nothing  to  do  with 
the  dull  folk  who  cry  Christmas  down." 

To  Mrs  Crackanthorpe. 

«'  March  3, 1916. 

"...  I  send  you  back  *  The  Venturer.'  I  have  read 
the  article  you  marked.    Of  course  this  war,  any  war,  is 


"TOO   OLD   FOR   THE    TRENCHES"      663 

hateful,  more  hateful  than  other  wars  because  it  is  backed 
up  by  greedy  Science  which  has  destroyed  all  the  personal 
romance  of  war.  But  your  friends  forget  that  this  war — 
given  the  conditions  of  society — was  inevitable,  and  if 
society  is  ever  to  be  bettered  must  be  fought  to  a  close. 
They  attack  the  Church  for  not  stopping  it.  It  is  not 
the  Church  they  should  attack,  but  the  general  greed 
and  covetousness,  the  desire  of  getting  more  and  more, 
the  loss  of  love  and  mercy,  even  the  scorn  of  it,  which 
for  fifty  years  have  prevailed  more  and  more  in  England 
as  well  as  in  Germany,  in  every  class  in  America.  Where 
there  is  covetousness  war  follows  as  sure  as  disease  follows 
dirt ;  and  if  in  the  future  settlement  after  the  war 
covetousness  prevails  in  its  conclusions,  wars,  and  wars 
worse  even  than  this,  will  follow.  A  man's  life,  they  say, 
consists  in  the  things  he  possesses.  A  man's  life  does 
not  consist  in  that,  but  in  loving  and  thinking  for  others 
more  than  himself." 

To  Lieutenant  Maurice  Jacks  [at  tJiefroyit]. 

"March  9,  1916.' 

"...  In  this  quiet  retreat  I  have  nothing  to  tell  you  ; 
my  days  are  full  of  nothings,  while  you  are  in  the  roar 
and  hustle  of  world-noises  and  affairs  which  make  history 
at  every  moment  of  day  and  night.  If  I  were  young  I 
should  like  to  be  with  you,  fighting  for  all  that  humanity 
needs  in  the  future,  but  at  eighty-three  what  can  I  do 
but  feel  with  you  and  give  what  I  can.  Incapability 
is  one  of  the  worst  curses  of  old  age.  As  I  painfully 
climb  up  the  little  hill  of  my  meadow,  I  turn  to  Evelyn 
and  say,  '  I'm  afraid  I  should  not  do  for  the  trenches.' 
I'm  getting  better  since  I  came  down  here  from 
London.  .  .  .  For  the  last  fortnight  we  have  had  con- 
tinual snow  and  frost.  The  snow  lies  on  the  garden  and 
the  moor  more  than  a  foot  deep.  It  has  been  very 
beautiful,  but  now  it  is  monotonous  and  the  gardener  is 
in  a  rage.  The  pessimists  about  us  are  tending  now  to 
optimism  since  the  French  have  made   so   brave  and 

'  Nine  days  before  the  death  of  Brooke. 
VOL.    II.  X 


664    HIS   THOUGHTS  ON   THE   GREAT  WAR 

vigorous  a  resistance  at  Verdun.  I  am  glad  that  these 
gentlemen  are  becoming  saner.  It  is  poor  work,  and  a 
poor  spirit  to  be  crying  woe,  woe,  when  all  of  you  are 
doing  so  patiently  and  so  splendidly.  .  .  . 

"  I  wish  I  had  any  news  to  egayer  you,  but  I  have 
nothing  to  report  even  of  the  garden,  for  the  snow  lies 
too  deep,  and  it  is  piteous  to  see  the  cabbages  only  just 
lifting  their  tall  heads  over  the  snow,  and  every  other 
vegetable  buried  in  a  white  grave.  It  seems  incredible 
that  in  a  few  months  all  the  world  will  be  green  and 
ablaze  with  roses,  and  I  hope  we  shall  then  be  near  to 
peace.  God  grant,  dear  boy,  that  you  may  come  back 
safely  to  us  all.  I  hear  from  Sir  F.  P.  that  Kitchener 
thinks  the  war  will  be  over  this  year.  I  wish  I  could 
write  all  I  feel  about  this  struggle,  but  it  is  wiser,  I 
imagine,  to  hold  my  tongue.  I  am  none  of  your  pessi- 
mists. I  believe  in  the  sovereignty  of  right.  I  should 
be  ashamed  to  doubt  of  that." 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

THE   END 
1916 


« ( I 


'  O  gioia !     O  inoffabilo  allegrezza ! 
0  vita  intera  d'amore  e  di  pace  I 
O  SGUza  brama  sicura  richezza  ! '  ' 
That  is  lovely  and  as  true— and  so  farewell." 

{Diary,  December  31,  1901.) 

The  following  verses  (a  paraphrase  of  Psalm  xxiii)  were 
sent  by  Brooke  as  a  Christmas  Greeting  to  his  friends  in 
1913.  They  strike  the  last  chord  in  the  long  symphony 
of  his  life —  / 

"  Beside  still  waters  where  the  grass 
Is  sweet  and  soft,  by  shadowy  trees. 
My  Shepherd  leads  my  weary  feet 
To  give  me  ease. 

"  This  Shepherd  is  my  Lord,  my  Love ; 
I  shall  not  want ;  and  when  my  soul 
Is  sick  and  heavy  laden.  He 
Restores  it  whole. 

"  In  paths  of  righteousness  He  guides 
My  erring  steps,  and  if  I  go 
Through  the  dark  shadowed  vale  of  death 
I  find  no  foe. 

"  For  He  is  with  me,  and  His  staff 
Guides  me  with  love  and  bids  me  take 
Comfort  and  joy ;  and  this  Ho  does 
For  His  Name's  sake. 


•  "  0  joy  !     0  ineffable  gladness  1     0  life  entire  of  love  and  peace  I 
0  riches  secure  without  longing  !  " 


666  THE   END 

"  When  in  the  hungry  waste  of  life 
My  heart  is  starved,  He  doth  prepare 
His  wine  and  oil  for  my  poor  sprite 
And  plenteous  fare. 

"  So  like  a  stream  that  sweetly  runs 
Beside  my  path  from  lea  to  lea 
My  Shepherd's  goodness  year  by  year 
Has  followed  me. 

"  And  I  shall  dwell  when  death  shall  bring 
Me,  wearied,  to  the  eternal  shore, 
In  His  enclosed  fold  of  peace 
For  evermore." 

On  October  18,  1915,  he  writes  to  his  daughter 
Honor — 

"...  Thank  you  for  your  very  pleasant  letter,  full  of 
the  crying  of  the  sea.  I  wish  I  could  hear  the  low  surg- 
ing on  the  strand,  and  all  it  means  and  says  to  me 
in  accumulated  memories.  I  feel  sometimes  as  if  I 
should  like  to  be  buried  like  Timon,  but  not  with  his 
temper. 

"  '  Timon  hath  made  his  everlasting  mansion 
Upon  the  beached  verge  of  the  salt  flood  ; 
Who  once  a  day  with  his  embossed  froth 
The  turbulent  surge  shall  cover. ' 

"  That  I  should  hear  every  night  and  day  the  sound 
of  moving  waters  where  I  lie,  would  be  a  happiness  too 
good  for  me.  Shall  I  ever,  ever  see  and  hear  the  sea 
again,  not  at  some  watering-place,  but  on  some  lonely 
shore,  where  the  waves  and  winds  over  8000  miles  of 
ocean  have  nothing  human  in  their  solitude  ?  The  wish 
is  half  evil,  and  far  too  sentimental,  but  there  is  a  vital 
background  to  it." 

In  these  years  he  neither  strove  nor  cried  ;  there  was 
little  effort  of  any  kind.  But  he  was  intensely  alive, 
very  near  to  those  by  whom  he  was  beloved,  and  very 
near,  as  it  seemed,  to  God.  His  form  was  unshrunken 
and  unbent,  his  voice  full  and  clear,  his  face  still  radiant 


THE   MAJESTY  OF   OLD  AGE  667 

and  his  eye  undimmed.  The  majesty  of  old  age,  which 
comes  from  the  close  contact  with  eternal  things,  was 
his,  but  youth  lingered  in  his  heart.  His  conversation 
retained  its  eagerness  and  versatility,  and  his  playfulness 
was  ready  to  break  forth  at  a  touch.  The  last  time  I 
saw  him,  which  was  two  months  before  his  death,  he 
was  little  changed,  thoiigh  a  warning  had  then  been 
given  him  and  he  knew  what  it  meant.  His  interest  in 
the  persons  and  things  about  him  was  as  keen,  and  his 
response  to  a  remark  or  a  jest  as  ready  as  ever.  He 
talked  much  of  his  garden,  and  said  with  a  smile,  "I 
wonder  if  I  shall  live  to  see  the  roses  bloom  again."  He 
was  full  of  what  I  can  only  describe  as  a  solemn  gaiety, 
and  spoke  of  Death  as  the  Great  Romance. 

During  the  last  year  of  his  life  he  suffered  from 
gout  in  many  forms,  and  his  general  health  remained 
precarious.  But  prior  to  the  end  of  1915  none  of  these 
attacks  was  of  a  nature  to  give  serious  alarm  ;  they 
were  painful  and  often  protracted,  but  they  seemed  to 
leave  his  abounding  vitality  almost  unimpaired.  In 
spite  of  the  great  age  he  had  now  attained — he  was  in 
his  84th  year — the  possibility  that  his  death  might  soon 
occur  was  seldom  present  to  the  mind  of  his  friends.  It 
seemed  as  though  he  might  yet  live  many  years. 

In  January  of  1916  there  came  a  change.  A  diabetic 
tendency  had  declared  itself,  and  there  was  some  dis- 
turbance in  the  action  of  the  heart.  In  that  month  he 
came  to  London,  partly  to  seek  medical  advice,  partly 
that  he  might  visit  his  old  friends.  There  were  times 
when  the  least  exertion  of  body  would  exhaust  him,  but 
on  the  whole  he  was  eager  and  vivacious,  went  to 
museums  and  galleries,  attended  the  annual  party  of  the 
Girls'  Club  he  had  founded  many  years  before,  paid  and 
received  \asits,  and  read  a  multitude  of  books— among 


668  THE   END 

them  the  Plays  of  Terence,  on  which  he  wrote  numerous 
comments  in  his  diary,  now  resumed  after  an  interval  of 
four  years.  Nevertheless  his  friends  were  anxious.  For 
himself,  he  showed  no  despondency,  hoping  that  with  the 
return  of  spring  his  troubles  would  pass. 

The  following  extracts  from  his  diary  were  written, 
the  first  three  immediately  before,  the  rest  during  his 
last  visit  to  London  : — 

The  Four  Winds.  January  1,  1916.  "In  the  vain 
hope  that  I  may  keep  up  writing  in  this  book,  I  have 
bought  it.  It  is  four  years  since  I  have  attempted  a 
Diary,  and  how  to  fill  it  I  cannot  tell,  for  here,  in  this 
quiet  island  in  the  sea  of  England,  there  is  nothing  to 
disturb  or  animate  existence  but  the  doings  of  Nature, 
enough  one  would  think  to  fill  a  book  with,  but  needing 
a  livelier  pen  than  mme,  and  a  keener  observation. 
Well,  I  hope  I  shall  outlive  the  year.  I  still  enjoy 
life,  and  one  does  not  leave  present  Joy  with  a  light 
heart.  And  I  want  to  see  the  Spring  and  its  flowers, 
and  to  sit  with  Summer  on  my  right  hand.  The  world 
is  full  of  anguish  now,  but  I  have  faith  that  its  end  is  at 
hand ;  evil  devours  itself.  Edith  Glover  came  to  stay 
with  us.  Her  presence  made  the  vileness  of  the  day 
less  vile.  It  rained  incessantly  and  blew  a  furious  gale." 
January  7,  1916.  "  To-night,  from  my  balcony  before 
dinner,  I  saw,  for  the  second  time,  the  Evening  Star,  low 
down  above  the  belt  of  trees,  and  above  her,  lying  a  little 
on  her  side,  the  thin  crescent  of  the  moon  in  a  pale  pearl 
sky,  cloudless  and  very  quiet.  It  was  a  lovely  vision, 
and  the  light  of  Venus  was  of  a  soft  intensity  which  is 
quite  her  own ;  which  Jupiter  never  wears.  Indeed 
Jupiter,  who  was  high  in  the  Zenith,  looked  faded  and 
weary  in  comparison.  We  planted  four  more  standard 
roses  to-day,  or  rather  we  took  away  four  and  put  in  four 
new.  The  wind  went  round  to  the  N.W.  and  swept  every 
rain  cloud  out  of  the  sky.  Not  one  gray  streamer  escaped 
its  cleansing  wings." 

January  9,  1916.     "  Misty  day — moon  looking  shyly 


LAST  SIGHT   OF   LONDON  669 

through  cloud,  stars  hopping  in  and  out,  wind  gone  to 
sleep.  Read  the  'First  Hundred  Thousand,'  by  Ian 
Hay — an  admirable  book.  Walked  round  the  estate,  saw 
two  primroses,  pretty  little  fools,  but  gave  to  a  bored  old 
man  a  pleasant  half-hour  of  hope.  They  are  there  now, 
while  -I  write,  closed,  but  ready  to  open  and  look  up 
softly  to  the  tangled  boughs  above  them  and  the  sunlight 
of  the  morning.  *  Beauty,'  they  say,  *  is  still  here ; 
she  never  says  good-bye  for  ever.'  ...  I  read  some  of 
the  Vicomte  de  Bragelonne,  one  of  my  favourite  books." 

London.  January  20, 1916.  "  I  took  Sybil  a  long  and 
interesting  drive  out  by  Hampstead  Hill,  Highgate  and 
Hornsey.  The  wind  was  cold  and  healthy,  and  there  was 
a  vast  expanse  of  plain  and  woods  and  churchspires  and 
hamlets,  lit  by  the  setting  sun  which  relieved  my  spirit, 
saddened  by  the  mass  of  London.  When  I  came  back  I 
found  Bryce  waiting  for  me.  He  was  delightfully  gay  and 
eager,  and  thank  goodness  scarcely  mentioned  the  War. 
Only  one  story  he  told.  His  friend  had  got  into  talk 
with  an  old  Scotchwoman  who  kept  a  chandlery  shop  in 
a  village  on  the  East  coast  of  Scotland.  He  asked  how 
she  was  getting  on.  She  answered — '  I  never  was  better 
off.  I  take  thirty  shillings  a  week,  but  that  auld  divil 
the  Pope  is  trying  to  make  peace.'  " 

Janwiry  22,  1916.  "Leaving  the  Embankment  we 
drove  up  Constitution  Hill,  and  saw  the  whole  sky  lit  up 
by  about  a  dozen  search-lights.  They  made  a  splendid 
show,  sweeping  to  and  fro  in  the  thin  clouds  and  crossing 
one  another  in  lanes  of  fire.  Zeppelins  were  expected. 
The  Abbey  and  Parliament  Houses  were  without  lights, 
and  solemn  and  sombre  they  were  against  the  dark  sky. 
Every  now  and  then  Jupiter  peered  through  the  flying 
clouds,  wondering  what  folly  Earth  was  at,  but  with  no 
notion  of  the  boundlessness  of  the  madness  of  Europe  .  .  . 
Bryce,  who  was  deputed  to  bring  the  O.M.  to  Henry 
James  found  him  unable  to  speak,  unable  save  for  a 
minute  to  understand  what  the  Order  was.  Why  does 
Government  always  delay  ?  A  year  ago  he  would  have 
received  it  with  keen  pleasure.  Now  it  is  Dead  Sea  fruit, 
and  he  deserved  it  then  as  much  as  now.     I  suppose 


670  THE   END 

they  said  he  was  not  theu  an  EngHshman— and  if  they 
said  that,  what  asses  they  were  !  " 

January  25, 1916.  "  Coming  home  G.  Prothero  came 
to  see  me,  and  I  talked  with  him  a  long  time  about  the 
U.S.  ...     He  agreed  with  my  view." 

January  27, 1916.  "  I  went  to  see  Constance  Bushe, 
and  found  her  in  bed.  She  was  attired  in  her  soul  with 
a  happy  Celtic  brightness,  and  enjoyed  her  rest  after 
pain.  I  suppose  that  different  races  are  good  for  this 
human  world,  but  it  is  a  great  pity  that  the  Irish  type 
was  not  more  often  used.  If  the  Germans  had  been  a 
repetition  of  the  Irish,  they  would  not  have  been  so 
stupid  as  they  have  proved  themselves  to  be." 

On  February  2  he  returned  to  the  Four  Winds, 
driving  from  London  in  his  motor.  His  health  improved 
immediately.  A  sure  sign  of  this  is  the  length  of  the 
entries  in  his  diary,  now  extended  to  a  whole  page. 

February  13, 1916.  "  I  took  my  first  drive  to-day  over 
Shere  Heath  and  through  Shore  to  Peaslake  and  home. 
The  wind  was  keen,  but  it  made  fresh  the  soul.  I  really 
begin  to  feel  as  if  life  were  worth  the  trouble  of  getting 
up  in  the  morning.  I  read  the  Phormio  of  Terence — a 
gay  play,  full  of  common  humanity,  and  Phormio  is  an 
alluring  rascal  and  the  two  old  men  excellently  con- 
trasted. The  story  is  nothing,  but  the  characters  are 
everything.  The  scene  is  at  Athens,  but  all  the  folk  are 
Eoman  in  character." 

February  16, 1916.  "  I  dreamt  that  I  saw  six  Zeppelins 
driven  down  in  mingled  clash  and  confusion  into  the 
raging  sea,  and  that  into  their  dreadful  wreckage  an 
English  Cruiser  rushed  and  made  a  '  marmalade '  of 
them.  I  heard  the  despairing  shrieks  of  the  wretched 
men,  and  in  my  dream  I  rejoiced  ;  but  not  when  I  awoke. 
I  hate  reprisals.  They  are  German  manners.  It  blew 
all  day  and  I  did  not  go  out  except  to  pace  the  verandah." 

February  18, 1916.  **I  continued  Pater's  Marius.  The 
style,  so  lavishly  praised,  of  all  Pater's  writings  wearies, 
like  Macaulaj^'s,  from  which  it  differs  altogether.      Its 


Under  the  Grkat  Beech  at  the  Four  Winds,  I'Jlo. 

Frain  (I  photogmjili  hy  l.loyil,  Albiiri/. 

[To  face  xmgc  670. 


PATER,   TAGORE,   SHERIDAN  071 

surprises,  which  are  numerous,  are  at  first  pleasant  and 
stimulating,  but  after  a  time  they  are  too  deliberate,  and 
become  a  mannerism,  and  disturb  enjoyment.  They 
weigh  down  the  style,  do  not  animate  it,  and  there  is  an 
oddity  in  them  which  excludes  simplicity,  and  this  is  a 
great  mistake.  But  the  Stuff  of  the  book  is  admirably 
good.     A  whole  Essay  might  be  written  on  it." 

February  19, 1916.  "  [Tagore's]  latest  books  are  not 
so  good  as  the  Gitanjali.  Erzeroum  has  fallen  to  the 
Russians,  and  every  one  thinks  the  results  of  this  will  be 
much  greater  than  I  think  they  will.  It  was  a  splendid 
feat  of  arms.     I  went  on  with  Marius  the  Epicurean." 

Fcbruari/  28,  1916.  "  Gosse  has  been  much  pleased 
by  the  Shelley  MS  ^  I  sent  him  ;  and  two  other  things  I 
sent  him — Rossetti's  copy  of  the  First  Edition  of  the 
Atalanta  with  his  signature,  and  a  copy  of  the  Hours  of 
Idleness,  in  the  original  binding — were  said  by  the  Times 
to  be  given  by  Mr  Wise.  I  wonder  what  the  Shelley  MS 
will  fetch."  2 

March  1,  1916.  "  I  read  Sheridan's  Critic  after  an 
interval  of  years.  I  did  not  care  for  it,  nor  did  I  care 
for  it  when  I  saw  it  acted  thirty  years  ago.  It  is  clever, 
but  not  brilliant,  and  S.  when  he  is  not  brilliant  is  not 
amusing.  Puff  is  very  laboured,  and  Sneer  tries  to  sneer. 
Sir  F.  Plagiary  is  best  characterized.  How  unhappy  his 
life  must  have  been !  Poor  Sheridan,  to  sink  into  the 
buffoon  of  George  IV.  What  a  curse  the  society  of  Kings 
and  Princes  is  to  men  and  even  more  to  women  !  " 

We  now  come  to  the  final  group  of  entries  written  in 
the  fortnight  preceding  his  death.  It  will  be  seen  that 
his  last  literary  criticism  refers  to  the  Plays  of  Terence. 
Most  noteworthy  is  the  final  entry  for  March  16.  On 
that  day  Brooke  wrote  down  as  usual  the  thought  that 
was  uppermost  in  his  mind.  It  was  the  thought  of 
Ireland,  the  land  of  his  birth,  and  the  words  are  the  last 
that  came  from  his  pen.  A  few  hours  after  writing  them 
he  was  mortally  stricken. 

^  For  a  Red  Cross  sale.  »  i^  fetched  £230. 


672  THE   END 

March  5, 1916.  "  No  snow  to-day  but  frost.  The  sun 
was  warm  and  E.  and  I  sat  on  the  hill  and  'viewed 
the  landscape  o'er' — half  emerald  and  half  crysolite. 
At  night  I  read  the  Andria,  more  interesting  and  livelier, 
I  think,  than  the  two  others  I  read.  It  is  superb  common- 
place, quite  close  I  should  guess  to  suburban  society  in 
Athens,  but  heightened  by  Menander's  genius  into  excel- 
lent stage  business,  and  manipulated  still  further  by 
Terence  into  middle-class  Roman  characters.  The  old 
men  are  capitally  differentiated,  and  Pamphilus  is  a 
weak  young  man,  but  a  faithful  lover.  He  is  quite 
refreshing.  A  Greek  play  like  this  presented  to  Romans 
must  have  been  like  a  French  play  presented  to 
Londoners.  Henry  James  is  dead— a  great  loss  to  us 
and  France,  but  not  to  the  U.  States  to  which  he  did 
not  really  belong.  No  one  could  be  less  American  than 
he  was.  I  should  say,  though  he  did  not  cry  down  his 
native  land,  that  he  loathed  the  push  and  noise  and 
money  getting  and  political  struggle  of  the  States. 
Finally  his  loathing  was  too  much  for  him  and  he  joined 
himself  to  us." 

March  6,  1916.  **  I  did  not  know  Henry  James  well, 
I  could  not  claim  him  as  a  friend,  but  I  met  him  in 
society  and  he  used  to  come  and  see  me  in  Manchester 
Square.  He  had  one  resemblance  to  Browning :  he  was 
always  observing  and  taking  notes  of  the  folk  he  met  at 
dinners  and  evening  parties,  but  frequently,  while  he 
observed  with  those  large  eyes  of  his,  he  would,  unlike 
Browning,  pass  into  a  questioning  and  dream  and  forget 
where  he  was  and  to  whom  he  was  talking,  as  if  the 
conversation  had  pushed  him  into  analysing  some  human 
problem.  .  .  .  When  he  could  not  get  the  very  word  or 
adjective  he  wanted,  it  was  most  amusing  to  see  him 
with  one  hand  in  the  air,  till  he  found  it,  when  he  flashed 
his  hand  down  into  the  palm  of  the  other  and  brought 
with  a  triumphant  look  the  word  he  wanted,  the  exact 
word.  Meanwhile  when  the  word  delayed,  he  piled  up 
sentence  after  sentence  and  parenthetic  side  issues — 
till  at  last  all  was  obscurity,  an  obscurity  he  thought 
was    cleared    when    he    discovered    the    elusive    word 


HIS  LAST  LITERARY  CRITICISM        673 

he  wanted.     This   was   what  his   style  became  in   his 
books." 

March  7,  1916.  "It  began  to  snow  again  in  the 
morning,  and  as  it  had  snowed  all  Monday  night,  with 
a  few  hours'  recreation  in  the  early  morning,  so  it  snowed 
the  whole  of  this  day,  till  it  lay  on  the  ground  more  than 
a  foot  deep.  It  beat  the  previous  snowfalls  out  of  the 
field.  It  was  a  curious  fall,  if  I  can  give  it  that  name. 
We  were  in  a  snow  cloud,  and  instead  of  vapour,  we  had 
the  finest  divided  snow  I  ever  saw ;  and  its  persistency 
was  wonderful.  We  looked  through  a  snow  mist;  and 
every  little  twig  on  the  trees  and  bushes  was,  even 
underneath,  covered  with  snow.  I  walked  through  the 
wood.  Every  furze  bush  was  weighted  to  the  ground 
and  the  great  fir  branches  were  bent  downwards  with 
huge  piles  of  snow,  and  the  whiteness  was  wonderful." 

March  9,  1916.  "  I  read  Romain  Rolland's  Above  the 
Battle  and  agreed  with  almost  every  word  of  it.  While 
denouncing  Prussian  militarism  and  the  enslavement  of 
it,  and  the  99  Professors  and  their  base  subservience  to 
Pan-Germanism,  it  urges  kindness  to,  understanding  of, 
the  German  people.  He  stands  for  love  and  mercy  and 
brotherhood." 

March  10,  1916.  "  Snowed  again  last  night.  When 
is  this  to  end?  CHp  enjoys  it  thoroughly,  rolls  and 
nuzzles  into  the  snow  and  pretends  to  hunt  for  animals 
in  it.  I  walked  round  the  estate,  and  in  the  deep  snow 
the  surface  of  which  was  frozen  hard,  but  not  hard 
enough  to  bear  my  giant  weight.  ...  I  wrote  to  M  aurice 
Jacks  and  to  Mr  P .  The  Verdun  battle  still  con- 
tinues, but  the  German  offensive  is  weakening." 

March  11, 1916.  "  I  began  the  Eunuchus  of  Terence. 
The  half-caste  society  of  Athenian  life  must  have  been 
curious  enough.  I  can't  match  what  Menander  repre- 
sents with  Euripides  or  Plato  or  Demosthenes.  How- 
ever, it  is  no  more  different  than  the  intellectual  society 
of  London  is  from  the  society  of  the  villas  of  Hampstead. 
Moreover,  Terence  may  have  vulgarized  Menander." 

March  14,  1916.  "  Sybil  left  me,  I  drove  her  down 
to  the  station  where   I   met   Evelyn  who   brought  me 


674  THE    END 

wonderful  roses  from  C.  L.  It  was  a  marvellous  day  of 
divine  sunshine  and  beauty.  A  river  of  sunlight  poured 
into  the  Verandah  where  I  sat  with  Sybil.  There  was 
no  prophecy  of  spring  in  the  air,  but  there  was  a  reality 
of  summer.     I  can't  get  well. 

"  I  wrote  to  Mrs  Armstrong,'^  the  wife  of  my  working- 
class  friend  at  Gateshead  who  had  worked  a  sofa- cushion 
for  me,  and  worked  it  with  artistry.  He  keeps  up  a 
correspondence  with  me.  Years  ago  I  was  sitting  on  the 
wall  above  the  Rothay  in  Grasmere  Churchyard  when  a 
nice  looking  young  man  came  up  to  me  and  said — Are 
you  the  Rev.  Stopford  Brooke  ? — Yes,  I  said— and  then 
he  told  me  that  he  had  lived  in  Wordsworth  from  his 
boyhood,  that  if  he  got  a  day  off  work,  he  came  to  see 
Grasmere,  that  his  boy's  second  name  was  Grisedale ! 
and  he  had  walked  over  all  the  hills.  Since  then  I  have 
not  seen  him,  but  he  often  writes  long  letters  to  me. 
He  is  an  example  of  the  thousands  and  thousands  of 
working  men  and  clerks,  etc.,  who  are  great  readers  of 
the  poets." 

March  15, 1916.  "  The  Doctor  came.  He  has  stopped 
cocaine  and  is  exhibiting  strychnine.  My  heart  appar- 
ently is  feeble  !  !  The  poor  old  thing  has  been  going  a 
long,  long  time,  and  no  wonder  it  is  a  bit  tired.  Nothing 
will  ever  be  fit  again." 

March  16,  1916.  "  Rain  all  day,  and  sickish  all  day. 
Maud  sent  me  flags  with  the  Irish  harp  on  them.  She 
works  from  7  till  6  p.m.  at  a  Flag  Day  for  to-morrow 
when  these  small  Irish  Flags  are  to  be  sold  in  the  streets 
to  get  money  for  the  Irish  soldiers  at  the  War  and  for 
the  Irish  prisoners.  Along  with  the  flags  came  Sham- 
rock out  of  Ireland.     I  mean  to  try  and  grow  it  here." 

On  Wednesday,  March  15,  a  great  weariness  came 
over  him.  Next  day  he  rose  somewhat  later  than  usual 
and  the  weariness  increased.  Towards  evening  his 
vitality  seemed  to  return  and  he  requested  his  daughter 
to  read  to  him  the  Westminster  Gazette,  as  he  lay  on  the 

'  This  letter  will  be  found  ou  p.  G87. 


HIS   DEATH  675 

sofa.  "But  read  me  nothing  about  the  war,"  he  said, 
"  read  the  passages  about  art  and  hterature."  Before 
retiring  he  caused  an  armful  of  books  to  be  collected  for 
reading  in  bed.  As  he  left  the  study  he  paused,  and, 
after  looking  round  upon  his  pictures  for  the  last  time, 
said  quietly,  "  It  will  be  a  pity  to  leave  all  that." 

At  eleven  o'clock  his  daughter  went  into  his  bedroom 
to  bid  him  good  night.  He  was  cheerful  and  began 
chatting  about  Venus,  who  was  shining  bright  through 
his  window.  Suddenly  his  heart  seemed  to  fail  and  for 
an  hour  he  struggled  for  breath. 

During  the  night  he  was  in  great  distress,  which 
continued  with  little  relief  all  next  day.  Friday  night 
was  quieter.  On  Saturday,  the  18th,  he  insisted  on 
getting  up,  but  was  unable  to  go  downstairs.  All  morn- 
ing he  lay  on  his  sofa  by  the  window,  looking  at  the 
great  beech  tree  in  his  garden,  under  which  he  loved  to 
sit.  Again  he  asked  for  the  newspaper  to  be  read  to 
him,  with  the  same  remark  as  before.  So  he  remained 
till  three  of  the  afternoon,  when,  on  attempting  to  move 
from  his  couch,  he  suddenly  collapsed.  Death  came 
swiftly.  He  spoke  no  word  and  made  no  sign.  As  the 
daylight  faded  he  passed  away,  his  eyes  closed  as  though 
he  were  falling  asleep.  Two  of  his  children  were  with 
him :  his  son,  Stopford,  and  his  daughter,  Evelyn,  who 
had  been  his  daily  companion  for  fourteen  years.  There 
had  been  no  time  to  gather  the  others. 

The  bier  was  laid  in  the  room  where  he  had  died,  and 
on  Wednesday,  March  22nd,  his  family  and  servants 
gathered  round  for  the  last  farewell.  The  portraits  of 
his  wife,  of  his  father  and  mother,  of  William  and 
Edward,  and  of  many  others  whom  he  had  loved,  looked 
down  upon  the  scene.  On  the  coffin  lay  a  drapery  of 
rich  colours,  covered  with  old  Italian  embroidery ;  and 


676  THE   END 

the  whole  room  was  filled  with  light  and  beauty.  The 
funeral  service  was  of  the  simplest.  Ancient  prayers 
of  faith  and  hope  were  repeated  by  one  who  had  loved 
him,  and  passages  of  Scripture  were  read  which  speak  of 
resurrection  and  immortal  fellowship  with  Christ. 

According  to  his  wish  the  remains  were  cremated  at 
Woking.  In  the  presence  of  his  brother,  his  son,  and 
his  four  sons-in-law,  the  body  was  committed  to  the  fire, 
and  we  saw  the  white  flames  leap  down  upon  the  wood. 
His  ashes  were  divided.  Part  was  laid  with  his  wife  in 
the  little  cemetery  at  Hampstead  ;  the  rest  in  his  garden, 
among  the  roses. 

Nine  years  earlier  he  had  written  thus  in  his  diary : — 

January  22, 1907.  "  I  dreamt  I  was  dead,  and  with  a 
spirit  very  much  interested  attended  my  own  funeral. 
I  accompanied  my  coffin,  a  mere  shell,  to  Woking. 
With  great  eagerness  I  waited  for  the  opening  of  the 
big  steel  doors,  and  slipped  into  the  furnace  ;  and  there, 
cosily  lying  against  the  roof,  watched  with  much  glee 
and  a  little  shiver  the  vaporization  oT  my  body,  and 
when  that  was  done  darted  out  through  a  chink  I  found 
into  the  cemetery,  and  reforming,  sat  down  under  a 
spreading  tree  to  contemplate  the  landscape  growing 
green  in  the  sweet  spring  weather.  The  larks  were 
singing  and  a  few  primroses  were  at  my  feet.  I  was 
a  little  amused  and  saddened.  Then  I  went  up  with 
a  lark  into  the  sky,  and  bade  him  good-bye  in  the 
upper  air." 


CHAPTEE  XXXVI 

LAST    LETTERS 

"  After  an  active  life,  a  few  years  of  silence  in  contemplation,  that 
were  wiae." — (Letter  to  his  sister,  January  1,  1896.) 

To  W.  Rothenstein. 

"  London,     January  1,  1915. 

"  I  WROTE  to  you  a  letter  iu  which  I  traversed  some  of 
the  views  of  life  you  flung  down  in  your  last  welcome 
letter,  but  I  was  interrupted  in  the  midst  thereof,  and 
when  I  took  it  up  again,  it  seemed,  as  I  read  it,  that 
my  argument  was  useless,  that  one  always  and  only 
within  oneself  found  the  answer  that  fitted  us  on  our 
pilgrim  way  to  ^he  far  off  goal — wherefore  I  scrapped 
the  letter  and  said  to  myself — I'll  write  to  him  on  New 
Year's  Day  and  say  there  is  only  one  thing  that  matters 
in  life — to  love  one  another,  especially  at  a  time  when 
many  villains  are  trying  to  prove  that  we  ought  to  hate 
one  another.  A  happy,  healthy,  aspiring,  contented, 
eager  New  Year  be  yours.  If  you  come  to  London,  do 
come  and  see  me.  We  have  come  here,  and  left  the 
Four  Winds  for  two  months  more.  And  we  are  close  to 
Paddington  Station.  You  are  well,  I  trust,  and  creating. 
That's  the  joy  of  joys.  My  love  to  your  wife  and  a  happy 
year." 

To  Sir  William  Collins. 

"  London.    January  4,  1915. 

"...  Thank  you  for  your  letter.  I  do  not  think 
there  is  anything  really  the  matter  with  my  eyes.  They 
seem  quite  as  useful  as  they  have  been  during  the  last 
few  years.     They  do  not  pick  up  things  as  quickly  as 


678  LAST   LETTERS 

they  did.  That's  old  age  I  imagine.  I  have  observed 
the  same  thing  with  regard  to  the  other  senses — hearing, 
taste,  and  smelhng. 

"  I  was  glad  to  read  your  trampling  on  Haldane's 
notion  of  Germanizing  University  teaching.  I  know  it 
undermines  the  teaching  of  Literature.  Also  I  was  very 
much  interested  in  your  pamphlet  on  the  General 
Baptists  there  in  Holland.  I  knew  nothing  about  them 
or  their  work.  It  is  sixty  years  since  I  read  Mosheim ! 
and  forgetfulness  is  perhaps  excusable.  But  you  have 
given  life  to  the  matter." 

To  Mrs  J.  R.  Green. 

"Loudon.    January  23,  1915. 

"...  I  have  been  at  home  for  days,  except  in  a  taxi 
to  see  my  sisters  who  are  a  bit  lonely.  When  I  left 
them  I  walked  for  five  minutes  in  the  dark.  The  gloom- 
drenched  houses  with  a  few  lights,  towering  in  the  foul 
mist,  the  abominable  streets,  the  caves  of  darkness  in 
which  they  ended,  the  slow  falling  rain,  the  motor 
lamps  running  by  from  gloom  to  gloom,  were  all  revolt- 
ing. It  was  like  an  approach  to  Hell.  I  looked  for 
Lucifer  to  emerge  suddenly  out  of  the  deadliness  of  it, 
but  he  was,  I  suppose,  hobnobbing  with  the  Kaiser,  and 
couldn't  come." 

To  Mrs  T.  W.  RolUston. 

"  The  Four  Winds.     March  11,  1915. 

"...  [Brighton]  is  a  stony-hearted  place,  and  seems 
to  say,  '  Admire  me,  I  wear  everything  on  the  surface.' 
I  wonder  Robertson  could  endure  it  for  so  long.  Six 
months  I  lived  there.  Now  I  am,  like  Touchstone,  in  a 
different  place,  and,  with  an  exception  or  two,  it  is  very 
enjoyable.  I  wander  in  the  mist  over  the  garden  and 
the  meadow  and  try  to  imagine  the  sunlight  of  June  on 
a  riot  of  roses.  There  is  one  daffodil  which  hesitates  to 
flower  fully.  The  Alpine  Windflower  shyly  adorns  the 
rock  garden,  and  that  is  all,  but  on  every  fruit  tree  the 


WAR  AND  LITERATURE  679 

buds  are  forming,  and  I  rejoice  to  know  that  life  has 
begun  to  flow." 


To  Cohden  Sanderson. 

"  April  25,  1915. 

"...  I  am  quite  glad  you  are  going  to  print  the 
Goethe  poems.  The  War  has  nothing  to  do  with  them, 
and  that  would  have  been  Goethe's  view.  Literature,  in 
the  midst  of  the  foolish  wars,  stands  by  itself  in  its  own 
world,  and  its  voices  are  eternal.  A  single  lyric  of  Goethe's 
or  Shakespeare's  or  Dante's,  is  of  more  importance  and 
of  more  endurance  in  the  memory  and  thought  of 
humanity  than  all  the  wars  of  all  the  world." 

To  Sir  George  HenscheL 

"  June  3,  1915. 

"  Dear  Friend, — I  have  been  pursued  by  the  wish  to 
know  something  about  you,  and  to  write  to  you  for  many 
days  before  the  arrival  of  your  letter.  I  wanted  to  know 
whether  you  were  happy  and  well.  Day  after  day  I  put 
off  writing  to  you ;  pure  laziness  or  inability  to  do  any- 
thing I  ought  or  rather  wish  to  do.  I  am  so  glad  that 
you  are  in  a  peaceful  and  lovely  place,  where  these  Noises 
do  not  batter  deafeningly  on  your  ears  and  heart.  It  is 
well  to  feel  sometimes  that  the  world  has  some  corners 
of  quiet  amid  this  furious  madness  of  slaughter  and  false 
ideas — nation  after  nation  sucked  into  the  whirlpool  of 
destruction.  Italy  now,  and  perhaps  before  long,  Holland 
and  the  Balkan  States  and  Greece,  and  even  possibly 
the  United  States.  We  too,  m  this  garden  full  of  colour 
and  sweet  air,  are  at  peace,  but  there  is  no  peace  in  our 
thoughts  save  when  in  some  new  rush  of  beauty,  the 
whole  wild  orgie  of  blood  and  fury  seems  the  phantasm 
of  an  evil  dream.  To  be  sure  I  will  send  you  something 
for  the  Tablet  to  Anderson.  I  remember  him  well,  and 
I  was  one  of  his  Parishioners.  He  is  one  of  those  dear 
people  whom  I  lived  among  in  pleasant  days." 

VOL.    II.  Y 


680  LAST   LETTERS 

To  Dr  Morriston  Davies. 

"  June  3,  1915. 

"...  We  live  on,  but  it  is  a  mad  world  to  live  in. 

0  what  a  satire  is  this  War  and  wars  on  our  boasted 
civilization — rotten  stuff  it  was." 

To  Sir  George  Henschel. 

"  July  22, 1915. 

"...  We  are  all  troubled,  and  must  be  prepared  for 
more  trouble.  What  irritates  me  is  that  the  greater  part 
of  the  expenditure  is  unproductive.  Well,  it  may  teach 
us  to  sj)end  no  money  on  things  that  have  no  permanent 
value.  .  .  .  Your  eagerness  for  Government  work  does 
not  surprise  me.  It  is  in  your  character ;  but  I  have  not 
much  sympathy  with  it.  You  have  done  much  for  man- 
kind, and  for  the  beauty  of  life  and  its  happiness.  You 
have  earned  your  quiet,  and  you  may,  without  remorse, 
enjoy  it.  But  life  bubbles  so  richly  in  your  veins 
that  you  will  not  sympathize  with  this  view  of  mme. 
And  I  am  so  much  older  than  you  that  I  take  a  quieter 
view  of  life.  Indeed,  I  am  on  the  borderland,  and  the 
noises  of  war,  and  the  quarrels  of  politicians  and  theo- 
logians, and  greedy  people,  are  heard  by  me  as  if  they 
were  in  a  retreating  mist,  dimmer  and  dimmer  as  the 
days  pass  by.     My  love  goes  to  you  with  this  letter,  and 

1  wish  you  were  here." 

To  Frederic  Harrison. 

"  The  Four  Winds.     August  2,  1915. 

"...  I  was  glad  to  get  your  letter,  but  very  sorry  for 
all  the  trouble  and  pain  which  have  fallen  on  you  and 
Mrs  H.  It  is  no  comfort,  such  as  some  dare  to  give, 
that  there  are  thousands  who  are  suffering  similar  pain, 
but  the  very  contrary.  It  is  a  misery  to  think  of  all  the 
pain  of  the  world  at  this  time,  and  the  '  far-off  interest ' 
of  it  of  which  some  talk,  is  so  far  away  as  scarcely  to 
count.     And  whether  it  is  ever  to  count  for  good  seems 


HIS   JOY  IN   SURREY  681 

to  be  likely  to  depend  on  a  Congress  hereafter  of  greedy, 
self-interested  nations,  obsessed  by  false  ideals.  .  .  . 

"  You  are  a  wonderful  person  to  be  able  to  walk  two 
hours  a  day,  and  to  go  through  all  that  sadness  and  pain 
in  France,  and  to  rush  almost  through  all  the  other 
useful  work  you  do  so  well.  I  wish  I  could  do  one-tenth 
as  much.  But  I  can't  write  much,  and  what  I  write  is 
useless  in  these  Noises.  I  have  done  three  more  Shake- 
speare plays,  but  no  Magazine  would  take  them  now. 
So  I  just  slide  on  to  the  end,  and  look  at  the  great  sky, 
and  watch  the  fruitful  earth,  and  wonder  and  wonder. 
I  remember  Beesly  in  the  old  days.  How  full  of  life  he 
was  and  how  determined  !  Humanity  will  often  thank 
him  for  the  work  he  did." 

To  Mrs  T.  IV.  RoUeston. 

"  August  8,  1915. 
"...  I  don't  think  I  should  mind  dying,  but  yet,  if 
our  comrade  Death  came  along,  I  am  not  sure  that  I 
would  go  out  walkiilg  with  him.  I  expect  I  should  jump 
back  again  into  life — '  Dear  fellow,'  I  should  say,  '  come 
again,  another  time,  I'm  not  in  the  humour  for  dying 
to-day.'  .  .  .  My  voyaging  days  are  over,  and  I'm  sorry 
therefore,  but  we  have  found  a  beautiful  and  quiet  spot, 
where  we  can  press  our  lips  to  our  mother  Earth,  and  be 
fed  with  milk  of  life  from  her  breast.     We  are  lucky." 

To  If.  Uothe.nstein. 

"  September  1,  1915, 

'•  .  .  .  The  garden  here  and  the  skies  are  lovely  and 
quiet  and  living  at  speed,  and  with  so  much  life  about 
me,  I  am  half  content  to  die,  for  Life  will  go  on.  And  I 
have  put  a  good  bit  of  my  life  into  the  earth  and  the 
moving  of  the  sky,  and  that  much  of  me  will  certainly 
go  on.  The  only  thing  I  have  done  is  some  pictures — 
little  splashes  of  memory  and  enjoyment,  little  recoveries 
of  youth,  peopled  to  me  alone  with  figures  of  those  I  have 
loved.  I  do  not  paint  these,  but  they  walk  about  in  the 
sketches  and  look  into  my  eyes.     And  the  sweetness  and 


682  LAST   LETTERS 

pleasure  of  them  all  flit  about  my  senses  like  fireflies  in 
a  wood. 

"  When  will  you  and  your  wife  come  and  see  us  here, 
at  least  for  a  week  end  ?  It  would  be  delightful  to  have 
you,  and  when  you  came  over  you  might  come  again.  .  .  . 
Come  in  October  when  colour  is  going  mad  in  the  trees." 

To  Dr  Morriston  Davies. 

"  September  6,  1915. 

"...  I  went  to  see  Olive  at  Oxford,^  and  I  motored 
back  the  whole  74  miles,  and  that  was  good,  was  it  not, 
for  I  was  not  at  all  tired.  I  was  charmed  with  their 
house  and  its  site,  and  stayed  with  them  for  five  days. 
I  saw  Stopford,  her  third  son,  into  khaki ;  and  I  hated 
to  see  it.  It  is  right  he  should  go,  but  it  is  hideously 
wrong  that  the  youth  of  England  should  be  sacrificed  to 
the  devilish  ideas  of  one  man's  and  one  caste's  desire  for 
wicked  Power.  And  not  only  the  youth  of  England,  but 
of  France  and  Russia  and  Italy  and  Germany.  Your 
two  nephews  are  gone,  and  for  what?  " 

To  Cohden  Sanderson. 

"  October  26,  1915. 

"  I  heard  of  you,  dear  Sanderson,  from  Verona,  and 
was  very  glad,  for  I  had  no  news  of  you  for  a  long  time. 
But  I  think  it  was  my  own  fault,  not  yours,  that  I  had 
not  heard.  I  shall  look  forward  to  the  Prelude,  and  of 
course,  I  shall  be  glad  to  have  the  Gedichte.  You  are  not 
going  to  bore  me  with  the  Xenien,  are  you  ?  I  want  no 
worldly  wisdom  at  my  time  of  life.  Have  you  printed 
your  selections  ?  If  you  have  let  me  see  the  list,  unless 
it  is  to  be  a  secret  till  it  burst  in  mild  surprise  on  the 
world.  I  hoped  for  you,  but  I  did  not  expect  you  here. 
The  weather  was  wicked,  and  no  one,  not  even  the  dogs 
and  cats,  was  warm,  and  the  poor  roses,  after  one  sunny 
fortnight,  never  had  peace,  and  even  in  youth,  were 
stained  on  the  edges  of  their  petals,  which  was  a  constant 
distress  to  me.    And  now  something  has  happened  to  the 

•  This  was  his  last  visit  to  my  house. 


A  REMEMBERED   STORM  683 

trees — perhaps  the  war — which  has  injured  the  colouring, 
splendid  at  the  beginning — and  all  the  gold  and  scarlet 
and  crimson  have  been  dulled.  And  the  sun  has  with- 
drawn into  his  pavilions,  and  we  see  him  no  more." 

To  Sir  George  Henschel. 

"  November  22,  1915. 

"  My  dear  Friend, — It  is  more  than  a  month  since 
you  wrote  to  me,  and  I  have  behaved  very  badly  by 
silence,  especially  as  you  wrote  a  most  delightful  and 
interesting  letter,  describing  the  cloud-burst  which  broke 
on  Alt-na-criche.  That  was  a  fierce  experience,  and  in 
after  days,  when  the  worry  of  it  will  be  dimmed  by  time, 
it  will  be  a  pleasure  to  look  back  on  it  and  to  tell  of  it  to 
wondering  friends. 

"  I  was  once  in  such  a  cloud-burst  at  the  top  of 
Llanberis  Pass ;  it  broke  as  I  ran  down  the  road  to 
Aberglaslyn.  The  great  slope  along  which  the  road  ran, 
rose  some  hundred  feet  on  the  left  above  me  in  rocks 
and  heather  and  deep-hewn  streams.  In  one  moment 
this  hillside  was  white  with  foam,  in  five  minutes  the 
streams  rose  twelve  feet  and  the  bridges  on  the  road 
were  overrun  with  their  waters.  The  road  on  which  I 
ran  was  a  river  a  foot  deep.  I  thought  the  whole 
mountain  would  be  carried  away.  I  was  rejoiceful ;  I 
shouted  for  joy.  There  was  an  eternity  of  blackness  in 
the  sky,  yet  it  only  lasted  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  I  was 
so  drenched  that  I  felt  myself  to  be  a  vital  part  of  the 
water  and  the  cloud  and  the  roaring  of  the  streams. 
Many  years  afterwards  I  had  something  of  the  same 
experience  in  Kerry,  but  it  was  not  half  so  splendid. 

"  I  am  much  better  at  present,  but  supernaturally 
lazy.  I  hear  of  your  deer- stalking,  and  of  various  athletic 
games  of  yours  with  wonder  and  admiration.  I  can  only 
walk  round  the  garden  when  the  sun  shines.  We  have 
been  planting  trees  and  bulbs,  believing  in  the  resurrec- 
tion. Winter  has  come  early,  snow  has  fallen,  like 
Charity,  on  the  sins  of  Autumn,  and  every  morning  we 
have  frost.     Yesterday  all  the  shrubs  and  trees  had  on 


684  LAST   LETTERS 

every  spray  a  sixth  of  an  inch  of  ice,  sparkling  in  the 
sun  with  all  the  colours  of  the  rainbow.  'Twas  a  lovely 
vision." 


To  Mr  White. 

"  December  17,  1915. 

"...  I  was  83  on  November  14  of  this  year,  so  we 
are  brothers  in  age.  I  wonder  how  far  Egham  is  from 
this  place.  Surrey  is  a  big  county,  but  it  would  be 
charming  if  we  were  to  meet  sometime  next  year  when 
Nature  has  joy  in  her  resurrection,  and  tells  us  in  flowers 
how  she  rejoices.  We  live  on  the  top  of  a  Surrey  down, 
and  an  old  windmill  looks  down  on  our  meadows,  and  we 
see  the  Weald  below  and  the  South  Downs  above  Brighton. 
It  is  a  wind-swept  place,  and  a  centre  of  peace  and  roses. 
And  here  I  stay  while  I  live,  and  here  I  suppose  1  shall 
die.  I  don't  feel  yet  as  if  dying  were  possible,  but  I  know 
it  comes.  I  hope  I  shall  like  it,  but  I  have  enjoyed  living 
very  much,  and  I  am  very  fond  of  this  gracious  Surface 
and  all  its  doings.  Anyway,  it  is  well  to  be  close  to  the 
heart  of  Mother  Earth  and  to  hear  the  beating  of  her 
heart.  A  million  myriads  of  years  she  has  been  young 
while  we  grow  old.  At  last,  she  will  perish,  but  we 
shall  not.     The  Lord  be  with  you." 


To  his  sister  Cecilia. 

"  December  24,  1915. 

"...  May  all  the  blessings  and  love  of  this  time  be 
with  you  and  Diamond,^  and  live  in  your  hearts.  We 
are  old  but  there  is  youth  in  us  when  we  think  of,  and 
love,  the  Child  who  was  born  to  live  and  die  for  us.  And 
may  He  be  with  you  and  Diamond  all  the  day,  and  for 
ever. 

"  Your  carnations  were  lovely,  and  I  have  them  with 
me,  and  that  they  came  from  both  of  you,  makes  them 
doubly  dear," 

^  His  youngest  sister,  Miss  Angel  Brooke. 


MEMORIES  685 

'To  Mrs  Humphry  Ward. 

"  January  6,  1916. 

**  Deak  Mks  Ward, — We  have  had  little  intercourse 
of  late,  but  I  do  not  forget  all  your  goodness  and  kind- 
ness, nor  all  that  you  are  doing  for  the  world,  and  I  pray 
that  God  our  Father  may  always  be  with  you  this  year, 
and  that  you  may,  whatever  sorrows  come  to  us,  have 
peace  and  joy  within  which  pass  understanding." 

To  Reginald  J.  Smith,  K.G. 

"  February  15,  1916. 

"  Your  letters  only  reached  me  this  morning.  If  3-ou 
are  ever  in  this  part  of  Surrey,  do  come  in  and  see  me. 
Gomshall  is  our  station — Gomshall  and  Shere. 

"  I  did  not  know  any  of  the  Robertson  family.  I  once 
met  the  Son  in  the  street,  but  that  is  all,  nor  have  I 
any  information  concerning  the  others.  Henry  King  of 
Cornhill  had  most  of  the  MSS  in  his  hands  for  a  time, 
and  I  think  that  all  that  was  worth  publishing  was  pub- 
lished. The  bulk  of  the  letters  were  in  my  hands,  and  I 
sent  them  back  to  the  owners. 

"  I  should  think  that  Kegan  Paul  and  Co.  would 
know  where  the  Robertson  family  were  or  are. 

"  Yes,  I  remember,  and  most  pleasantly,  my  interviews 
with  you  in  that  upper  room. 

"I  can't  say  much  of  good  at  present  about  my 
health,  but  I  keep  fairly  well  in  this  high  air  and  light 
on  the  top  of  a  Surrey  Down." 

To  Miss  Guest. 

"  The  Four  Winds.    March  2,  1916. 

"...  We  have  had  wonderful  weather  here.  At 
last  I  have  seen  the  whole  world  of  grass  and  moor  and 
gorse  under  more  than  a  foot  of  snow,  and  amazingly 
beautiful  the  trees  were.  Every  twig  was  a  revelation 
of  the  minute  delicacy  with  which  Nature  works  when 
she  is  Ruskinating — there's  a  good  new  word  for  you. 


686  LAST   LETTERS 

The  thaw  was  also  interesting.  At  night,  in  the  sOence, 
it  amused  itself  with  hissing  and  whistling  as  it  made 
the  snow  slide  on  the  roof,  and  then  it  tapped  like 
fingers  on  a  door,  and  then  it  sploshed  (another  fine 
word)  whenever  a  great  mass  of  snow  fell  on  the  balcony 
outside  my  window.  Then  the  sun  came  out  and  hurried 
up  everything  and  then  in  a  clear  shining  there  was  the 
Evening  Star  infinitely  at  peace.  The  snow  still  lies  on 
the  meadow  and  the  garden,  and  the  birds  still  come  to 
be  fed.  A  whole  cocoanut  has  been  devoured  by  two 
great  tits,  the  robins  spend  the  night  in  the  rooms  of  the 
servants,  a  jay  has  come  among  the  chaffinches  to  feed, 
and  the  cat  has  ambushed  and  devoured  two  of  them. 
He  is  too  handsome  to  be  punished — a  glorious  tail, 
sable  waving,  and  his  whole  body  as  black  as  the  Kaiser's 
heart.  .  .  . 

"  I've  sent  a  Shelley  MS  to  the  Red  Cross  Sale  and 
some  books." 


To  Mrs  T.  W.  Rolleston. 

"  The  Four  Winds,  Ewhurst.    March  11,  1916. 

"  My  hands  are  so  cold  I  can  scarcely  write.  I  find 
this  continual  frost  very  trying.  The  snow  lies  thick  on 
the  meadows,  and  weighs  down  the  pines,  and  at  the  end 
of  the  field  it  has  banked  up  as  high  as  the  top  of  t^e 
fence.  It  thaws  a  little  every  day,  but  everything  is  still 
garmented  with  white — white  that  has  ceased  to  be  pure. 
I'm  tired  of  it.  I  did  see  one  daflbdil  to-day  peering 
through  a  couch  of  snow,  and  I  also  saw  the  Sun  peering 
through  a  gray  cloud  and  a  little  dream  of  blue  sky. 
Yes,  I  should  like  a  flag  or  two.  I  send  you  a  pound  for 
the  Flag  Day.  What  fun  your  Irish  servants  will  have 
selling  them  !  I  keep  very  fairly  well,  and  do  nothing 
but  read  and  rest.  It  is  too  cold  to  paint.  I  thought 
Willie's^  review  of  Romain  Rolland's  book  of  the  best. 
The  publishers  had  sent  me  the  book  and  I  had  read  it. 
It  was  the  type  of  book  I  like  and  agree  with.     It  says 

'  Mr  T.  W.  Eolleston. 


A  GLEAM  OF   SUNSHINE  687 

what  I  should  have  been  glad  to  have  said.  I  have 
always  believed  in  a  German  remnant  who  have  not 
bowed  the  knee  to  Baal. 

"When  are  you  coming  to  spend  a  day  or  two  or 
three,  etc.,  etc.,  with  me?    I  hope  soon. 

•'  March  12.  Winter  is  loosed,  it  seems,  this  morning, 
and  the  thermometer  is  up  to  48°,  the  garden  is  almost 
freed  from  snow  and  the  meadow  is  clearing.  There  is 
a  touch  of  south  in  the  East  Wind,  the  sky  is  nearly 
blue,  the  daffodils  begin  to  peer,  the  broom  is  budding, 
and  the  birds  are  singing,  and  after  being  fed  for  three 
weeks  have  gone  back  to  worms  and  grass.  I  don't  dare 
to  hope  too  much,  but  there  is  a  positive  change.  There 
is  a  warm  golden  colour  in  the  clouds  and  sunshine, 
though  not  radiant,  is  persuasive." 


To  Mrs  Armstrong} 

"  The  Pour  Winds,     Llarch  12,  1916. 

"...  The  cushion  has  come  and  I  am  delighted 
with  it.  I  like  the  colour  of  the  silk,  and  I  admire  and 
cherish  the  embroidery,  and  wonder  how  you  do  the 
work  so  beautifully  with  so  weak  a  wrist.  The  pattern 
is  in  the  best  taste  possible,  but  there  is  a  freedom  and 
boldness  in  your  needlework  which  makes  me  think 
more  of  it  than  of  the  pattern.  It  must  be  a  great 
pleasure  to  you  to  be  able  to  create  such  beautiful  work. 
Thank  you  very  sincerely  for  it.  I  think  I  shall  keep  it 
in  my  bedroom  that  I  may  have  it  near  at  hand.  I  have 
used  your  tea-cloth  ever  since  you  gave  it  to  me. 

"  Tell  your  husband  with  my  love  that  I  shall  soon 
answer  his  interesting  and  thoughtful  letter,  and  all  the 
more  when  I  get  a  little  warmer.  We  have  had  frost 
night  and  day  for  three  weeks  and  snow  more  than  a 
foot  deep.  I  shall  try  to  send  you  a  painting  of  my  own 
of  some  Grasmere  landscape,  but  as*yet  I  am  too  cold  to 
paint.    To-day,  however,  the  thaw  has  begun  and  there  is 

'  See  p.  674. 


688  LAST  LETTERS 

a  breath,  a  sound  of  spring  in  the  air ;  and  I  have  seen 
a  single  daffodil,  poor,  shy  little  thing." 


To  W.  Rothenstehh 

"  March  13,  1916. 

"...  You  wrote  to  me  on  February  17,  and  I  have 
never  answered  your  goodness.  This  is  not  that  I  have 
anything  to  do — I  have  not — but  because  I  have  felt  so 
incompetent.  .  .  .  There  is  a  kind  of  malice  everywhere 
in  me,  but  I  am  getting  better  .  .  .  and  I  hope  to  be 
able  to  join  the  birds  in  singing  in  the  Spring.  Spring 
is  all  very  well,  but  an  aged  gentleman  loves  the  Summer 
best.  I  like  the  fullness  of  life  better  than  the  beginnings 
of  life.  When  I  was  younger  glad  beginnings,  which 
God  so  often  gives  us,  were  my  greatest  pleasure.  I  felt 
sure  [I  could]  cross  the  hills  into  the  new  country, 
and  I  lived  half  in  the  unknown.  Now  I  know,  and  I 
love  fullness  and  satisfaction,  even  though  1  am  certain 
of  the  passing  of  fullness  into  decay.  Perhaps  I  think  I 
shall  never  live  to  see  decay.  I  am  glad  you  are  so  full 
up  with  work,  for  the  world  will  be  the  better  for  that, 
and  it  pleases  one  who  can  do  no  work  that  others  can. 
To  sit  on  the  cliffs  and  see  the  ships  tossing  in  the  gale, 
all  attent  to  conquer  their  haven,  is  not  disagreeable. 
We  have  had  a  wonderful  snow-time,  more  than  a  foot 
deep  for  three  weeks  on  end,  and  at  first  full  of  extra- 
ordinary beauty.  With  what  amazing  delicacy  Nature 
works  when  she  is  not  out  of  temper ;  every  twig,  every 
spine,  every  shoot  was  encased  in  the  lacing  of  the  frost, 
and  radiant  with  righteousness  and  happiness,  and  no 
wicked  thaw  disturbed  them.  Pitch  Hill  looked  as  big 
as  Monte  Rosa.  It  is  all  gone  now,  and  it  was  time,  for 
its  whiteness  was  being  dusked  over.  The  thaw  began 
yesterday.  I  enjoyed  the  keenness  of  it  all.  So,  you 
have  been  drawing  Thomas  Hardy.  How  did  he  impress 
you  ?  He  is  one  of  the  few  men  who  cut  into  the  quick 
of  humanity.  The  last  volume  of  poems  was  not  as 
good  as  its  predecessor.    That  was  a  book  of  poems  from 


"THE   DAFFODILS   PROMISE   WELL"     689 

many  of  which  I  used  to  see  living  blood  pouring  over 
the  page.  I  never  read  the  Dynasts,  except  one  page  at 
my  bookseller's.  I  don't  think  I  could  tackle  it.  Still, 
it  is  a  big  thing  to  have  done,  if  all  I  hear  be  true.  The 
daffodils  promise  well,  so  do  the  tulips." 


INDEX 


In  place  name  references  v.  indicates  a  visit,  d.  a  description. 


Abbeylara,  4 

Abbej'leix,  15  v.,  25,  76  V. 

Abbotsford,  413 

Abercrombies,  the,  292 

Aberdeen,  497  v. 

Aberglaslyn,  683  v, 

Abingdon      Court,      Kensington, 

650  V, 
Academy,  363 
Addis,  Bev.  W.  E.,  573 
Address   to  Brooke  on    his   80th 

birthday,  632-3 
Adelaide  Street,  Kingstown,  75  v. 
"  Administration  of  Alva,"  78 
^schylus,  541 
Agnes,  "Kestrels  and    Falcons," 

142 
Agnosticism,  506 
Agnostics,  331,  398 
Airlie,  Lady,  597 
Albert,  Prince,  179,  215,  259 
Alexander  [the  Great],  30 
Alford,  78 

"  Greek  Testament,"  82 
Alfred,  Prince,  242 
Alfred  the  Great,  361,  375 
Algoa  Bay,  299 

Alice,  Princess,  154,  167-8,  173 
Allenheads,  233  v. 
All  Souls,  Belfast,  497  v. 
Alpine  "bores,"  257 
Alt-na-criche,  683 
Amalfi,  519 

Ameer  of  Afghanistan,  377 
America,  183,  242,  320,  326,  401, 

411,  459,  625,  640,  643,  652, 

G63 
America     and     England,     closer 

union,  645 


American  style,  601 
Ancestry,  1-11 
Andersen,  Hans,  475 
Anderson,  K.  J.,  "  Lake  Ngami," 
77 

,  Rev.,  679 

"  Angel  in  the  House,"  78 
Angelo,  Michael,  567 
Anglo-Saxon,  Study  of,  361,  373-4, 

376,  378,  483 
Anne  of  Courtown  (Swift's   "  sly 

Nancy"),  8 
Annus  Alirabilis,  92 
Appointments — 

Curacies,  83,  88,  90-95,  102-4, 
114-5,   126,   140-1,   170,  175, 
181,  454 
Lectureship,  94,  223-4 
Chaplain   to  the  English  Em- 
bassy   at     Berlin,    144,   146, 
153-7,  159,  162,  164-5,   167- 
70,  174 
Chaplain  to  Queen  Victoria,  154, 

178,  214,  637 
Chaplain  in  Ordinary,  264 
Examiner  for  the  Civil  Service 
in   English    Literature,   306, 
381 
Principal,  Men  and    Women's 
College,      Queen's      Square, 
367-8,  393 
Chaplaincy  of  Manchester  Col- 
lege, Oxford,  464-5 
President,   Irish     Literary   So- 
ciety, 539 
Offers,  173,  175,  177,  212,  467, 
630,  637 
Aquinas,  Thomas,  510 
"  Arabian  Nights,"  25,  513,  545 


692 


INDEX 


Arc  de  Triomphe,  256  d. 
Archaeology  of  Rome,  294 
Ardagh,  Major-General  Sir  John, 

213 
Aristotle,  510 
Arly,  37  v. 
Armagh,  5 
Arms,  Augmentation  of,  "  the  Oke 

Branch,"  i 
Armstrong,  Mrs,  674,  687-8 

,  Rev.  R.  A.,  328-9 

Arnold,  Matthew,  285-6,  288,  817, 

402,  432,  541,  548,  597,  644 
"  Lectures  of  Modern  History," 

124 
"  Mixed  Essays,"  286-7 
Art,  24,  110,  142,  173,  227,  317, 

378-9,  627,  633,  647,  675 
and  religion,  55-8,  60,  205,  229, 

233, 317-8, 332, 413,  450-2, 454 
artist's  eye,  89,  56,  198,  227-8, 

413 
collections,  228, 302,317,  413-16, 

434,  438-9,  462,  589-90 
criticism,    80,   81,   100-1,    146, 

186-8,  199,  216,  231-2,  237-8, 

295,    347,    355,    501,    547-8, 

574-5,  611,  616 
sketching,  473-6,   510-11,   575, 

591,  624-5,  628-9,  682,  686 
Arthur,  Prince,  216,  218 
Arthur's  Seat,  267  v. 
Arx,  the,  511  v. 
Ashmolean  Museum,  186  v. 
Asia,  335 
Askerten,  250  v. 
Atonement,   the,  64,   225,   300-1, 

305,  309,  314 
Attainment,  581-5 
Attention,  70 
Athanasian  Creed,   44,   203,  570, 

646 
Atheists,  398 
Athena,  368 
AthencBimi,  363,  542 
Athenseum  Club,  369,  541 
Athens,  294,  541,  670 
Athens,  young  bloods  of,  609 
Aurelius,  Marcus,  541 
Australia,  401 
Austria,  164,  166,  611,  640 
Austrian- Tyrol,  166 
Aviemore,  639  v. 
Axenfels,   Lac   Lucerne,   873    v., 

408  v.,  525  v.d.,  526 


Bacon,  66,  71, 123 

Bagley  Wood,  335-6  v. 

Bagehot,  Walter,  635,  640 

Balfour,  Mr  A.  J.,  618 

Balkan  States,  the  679 

Balliol  Gardens,  573  v. 

Ball,  Sir  Robert— 
"  Story  of  the  Heavens,"  544 

Ballymacool,  6  v. 

Balzac,  142 

Bamborough,  602  v. 

Bangor,  437  v. 

Bannockburn, 64 

Banting,  course  of,  169 

Baptists,  105,  133 

Baptists  in  Holland,  General,  678 

Barrow,  the,  239 

Bastille,  Place  de  la,  255  v  d. 

Bates,  H.  W.— 
"  The  Naturalist  on  the  Ama- 
zons," 147 

Bath,  497  v. 

Baths  of  Caracalla,  294 

Baths  of  Diocletian,  294 

Baveno,  440  v.,  445  v.,  462,  470  v., 
522-8  v.d.,  527  v.,  575  v.,  577, 
581  v.,  583  v.,  621  v. 

Beacon,  the,  510  v.d. 

Beaumont,  Mr  Somerset,  572,  589 

Street,  Oxford,  616 

,  Thomas  Wentworth,  97 

Beaumonts,  the,  101-3,  107 

Beauty,  88,  122,  408,  451-4,  457, 
463-4,  469,  484,  515,  518,  555, 
583,  627,  632,  652 

Bedford  Chapel,  Bloomsbury,  284, 
287,  292-3,  298-300,  302,  318, 
353-60,  862,  393-4,  411,  426, 
441-2,  449,  451,  455,  458, 
462-3,  467-9,  474,  482,  499, 
519,  523,  619 

Beesly,  681 

Beethoven,  Sonata  of,  603 

Beeton,  378 

Belfast,  340  v.,  364 

Belfast  Lough,  340  v. 

Belgians,  656-7 

Belgravia,  299 

Bellagio,  33-4  v.d.,  399  v. 

Bellini,  Giov.,  230-1,  347,  462 
"  Death  of   St  Peter   the  Mar- 
tyr," 578-9 

Bennett,  Arnold — 
"  The  Glimpse,"  614-5 

Beraud,  Jean,  289 


INDEX 


693 


Bergamo,  373  c.d. 
Berkeley,  Bishop,  7,  60 

"Hylas,"  78 
Berkeley  Chapol,  166 
Berlin,    144-7,   152-74   v.d.,   177, 

179-81  v.,  218,  220,  245,  378 
Bermondsey,  497  v. 
"  Bessie,"  29 
Bevan — 

"  Modern  Geography,"  142 
Bewcastle,  250  v. 
Bible  Class,  50,  84,  93 
Bible,  the,  44,  64,  75,  77-8,  128, 
154,  161-2,  182,  193,  226,  307, 
309,  448 

in  childhood,  18,  22,  23 
Bideford,  337-8  v.d. 
Birkenhead,  497  v. 
Birmingham,  338,  444,  501 
BirreU,  A.,  643,  645 
Bismarck,  Prince,  165-6 

estimate  of,  243-4,  254,  273 
Blackford,  267  v. 
Blake,  William,  317,  414,  454 
Blanc,  Mont,  108 
Blantyre,  Lady,  158 

,  Lord,  158 

Blatchford,  Rev.  A.,  536-7 
Bloomsbury  Chapel,  443 
Blumenthal,  J.,  93 
Blyden,  Dr,  of  Liberia,  605 
Boat  race,  Oxford  and  Cambridge, 

180. 
Bocca  d'Arno,  521  v.d. 
Boer  prisoners,  645 
Bognor,  145,  265,  335 
Bolton,  497  v. 
Bolton  Abbey,  271  v. 
Books  and  Articles,  Brooke's — 

"  Alfred,  King,"  478 

"  Beauty  and  the  Boast,"  78 

"  Boadicea,"  30 

"Browning,"  311,    459,   478-9, 
542,  636,  640 

"  Callista,"  366,  368 

"  Chaucer's  Landscape,"  258 

Christian   Hymns,   349,   355-6, 
409-10 

"  Crofter's  Wife,"  364 

"  Coleridge,  Golden  Book  of," 
458-9 

"  Early  English  Literature,  His- 
tory of,"  301-2, 408, 479-80,527 

"  Elizabethan  Dramatists,"  re- 
edited,  317 


Books  and  Articles,  Brooke's — 
"  English  Literature  from  the 

Beginning    to    the    Norman 

Conquest,"  478 
"  English    Literature,    History 

of,"  317,  367,  458 
' '  English  Literature,  Primer  of, ' ' 

284-7,  292,  295-6,  302,  304-5, 

381,  622 
"  English    Verse,"    prizes    for, 

39 
"  Four  Poets,"  478,  597,  644 
"  Freedom  in   the    Church    of 

England,"  252,  312  5 
"  Greatness,  The  True,"  82 
"  Irish  Poetry,  Introduction  to 

the  Treasury  of,"  478 
"  Kingsley,     The      Genius      of 

Charles,"  45-7,  63-4,  74,  84 
"  Lost  for  Ever,"  399 
"  Milton  Primer,"  305-6,  317 
"Novel,  The   Growth  of  the," 

24,  45,  47-8 
"  Poems,"    31,    119,   161,    265, 

364-6,  390,  398-9,  432 
"Poetry,  Studies   in,"   22,  73, 

249-50,  478 
"  Prayer,"  82 

"  Psalms  Versified,"  609-10 
"  Psalm  XXIII.,"   paraphrase, 

665-6 
"  Religion    in    Literature   and 

Life,"  478 
"  Sabbath,  Prize  Essay  on  the," 

73 
"Secrets  of  Life,"  408 
"  Sempstress,  The,"  364 
"  Shakespeare's  Plays,  Edition 

of,"  306,  317 
"  Shakespeare,   Ten   Plays  of," 

478,  595-6,  636 
"  Shakespeare,  Ten  more  Plays," 

478 
"  Shakespeare,    Three    Plays," 

681 
"  SheUey's    Poems,"    Selection 

edited,  306,  317,  367-9 
"  Six  Days,"  399 
"  Speak  to  me,"  394 
"Robertson.  Life  of  F.   W.," 

93-4,    121,    141,    144,   152-3, 

169,  172,  179-81,  185-6,  188, 

190,  192-203,  634 
special  significance  of,  79- 
80,  192-5 


694 


INDEX^ 


Books  and  Articles,  Brooke's — 
"  Tennyson,"      20-1,      410-11, 

458-9 
Tribute  to  his  father  in  Irish 

Ecclesiastical  Gazette,  10 
Turner's  Liber  Studiortim,  work 

on,  355,  388-9 
"  Vapour  of  Pate,"  365 
"  Vengeance  Poems,"  865 
"  Venice,"  365 
"Venice,  The  Sea  Charm  of," 

478 
"  Womanhood,"  116,  126 
"  Wordsworth,  Introduction  to," 

478 
"Wordsworth's   Poems   of    In- 
dependence and  Liberty,"  478 
Plans,  302,  306,  317,  463,   472, 

481 
Settling,  600-1 
Boscastle,  381  v.d.,  435  v. 
Boscombe,  411  v.d. 
Boston,  568 
Botticelli,  547-8 
Bottomley,  H.,  anxious  for  Atha- 

nasian  Creed,  646 
Boug^aut,  78 
Bournemouth,  441-2,  497  v.,  505, 

518  V. 
Boyd  family,  the,  6 
Bradley,  Edward,  27  - 

,  Professor,  540 

Brady,  Mr,  45,  77, 116 
Bragelonne,  Vicomte  do,  669 
Bray,  78  v.,  81  v. 
Bredon  Hill,  509  v. 
Bremond,  the  Abbe,  620 
Brescia,  373  v. 
Bridport,  497  v. 
"  Brian  O'Lynn,"  162 
Brientz,  208 
Bright,  John,  125 
Brighton,  128-9  v.d.,  177.  189-90, 
497  v.,  513,  529  v.,  533-4  v., 
678  d. 

Downs,  648 

Bristol,  145,  497  v.,  534  v. 

Channel,  528  d. 

British    Academy,    invitation    to 

lecture,  637 
and  Foreign  Unitarian  Asso- 
ciation, 496-7 
Brixton,  497  v. 
Brontes,  the — 

"  Jane  Eyre,"  93,  598,  631 


Brontes,  the — 
"  Shirley,"  598 
"  Villette,"  598,  631 
"  Wuthering  Heights,"  598 
Letters,  631 
Caroline,  598 
Jane,  598 
Lucy  Snowe,  598 
Moores,  the,  598 
Paul  Emmanuel,  598 
Bochester,  598 
St  John,  598 
Shirley,  598 
Villette,  598 
Brooke,  Alexander,  physician,  3-4 

brothers,  the,  322,  358 

children,  the,  14-15,  157, 161, 

190,  234-6,  275-6,   358,   374, 
383-4,  419 

daughters,    the,    252,    281, 

422-3,  469,  557,  567,  645 

,  Digby,  3 

,  Graham  (son),  152 

death  of,  234-6,  259,  274,  622 

grandchildren,  14,  567 

,  Henry,  poet,  3 

"  The  Fool  of  Quality,"  3,  24-5 

,    Major  -  General       Edward 

(brother),  11-12,  36,  62,  233, 
239,  321,  476-7,  478,  485,  489- 
90,  604,  606-17,  675 
character,  13-14 
See  also  Letters 

,  Miss  Angel,  "  Di "  (sister),  v, 

607,  684 
See  also  Letters 
,  Miss  Anna,  "  Nannie  "  (sis- 
ter) (Mrs  WeUand),  18,  34-6. 
,  Miss  Cecilia,  "Dote"   (sis- 
ter), V,  35-6,  275-6,  421,  607 
See  also  Letters 

,  Miss  Evelyn  (daughter),  vi, 

33,  384,  338-9,  345-6, 444,  507, 
600,  607,  630,  632,  647-8,  663, 
673,  675 
See  also  Letters 

,  Miss  Honor  (daughter),  152, 

334-5,   360,   384,   386-9,  420, 
425,  430,  527,  607,  631 
See  also  Letters 

,  Miss  Honor  (sister),  v,  137, 

463,  470,  485, 490-1,  607 
See  also  Letters 

,  Miss  Maud  (daughter).    See 

Mrs  T.  W.  RoUeston 


INDEX 


695 


Brooke,    Miss    Olive    (daughter). 
See  Mrs  L.  P.  Jacks 

,  Miss  Sybil  (daughter),  333, 

345,  389,  6G9,  G73-4 
See  also  Letters 

,  Miss  Verona  (daughter).    See 

Mrs  C.  B.  Welland 

,  Henry,  29 

,  Mr  Henry  (of  Birkenhead), 

3 
,  Mr    Leonard    (of     Birken- 
head), 3 

,  jMrs  Anna  Stopford  (mother), 

5,   15-16,   21,   131,   252,  342, 
462,  465,  488,  675 
wooing  and  marriage,  6,  7,  392 
diary,    v,    16-20,    42,     77,    84, 

102 
death,  476,  485-7 
character    and    culture,  10-11, 

20,  486 
See  also  Letters 

,  Mrs  Stopford    {nie   Emma 

Beaumont)  (wife),  53,    92-3, 
104,  108,  110,  116,  131,   159, 
167,  177,  180, 184,  190,  244-5, 
252,  262,   264,  2G6-7,   281-2, 
324,  392,  614,  622,  675 
met,  25,  76,  514 
marriage,  97,  102-4 
illness  and  death,  234-6,  274-5, 

487 
character,  113-114,  276-7 
See  also  Letters 

,  Mrs  Stopford    W.  (Helen), 

607,  631 

,    Mr    Stopford    Wentworth 

William  (son),   v,    115,   152, 
334,  386-7,  420,  425,  434,  459, 
572,  607,  631, 648-9,  675-6 
See  also  Letters 

,  origin  of  name,  2 

.  Rev.  A.,  Rector  of  Slingsby 

(brother),  v,  14-15,  35-6,  51, 
170,  233,  275,  364,  512,  676 
"  Occasional  Verses,"  364 
See  also  Letters 

,  Rev.  Henry,  Rector  of  Kin- 

awley,  3 

,  Rev.  John,  Royal  Chaplain, 

2,  3 

,    Rev.      Richard      Sinclair 

(father),  19,  52,  88,  131,  164, 
181,  189,  252,  267,  321,  477, 
486-8,  675 

VOL.  II. 


Brooke,  Rev.  Richard  Sinclair — 
wooing,  6,  7,  392 
curacies,  1,  15,  25 
chaplaincy  of  Mariners'  Church, 

15  17   50 
living  at  Wyton,  147, 177, 180-1, 

263-4 
death,  10,  392 
character,  10,  23,  61 
"  Recollections    of    the     Irish 

Church,"  3,  10 
"Parson  Annaly,"  10 
"  Poems,"  10 
See  also  Letters 

,  Rev.  Wm,  Rector   of  Gra- 

nard,  4 

,  Rev.  Wm,  Rector  of   Mul- 

lagh,  3 
,  Sir  Basil,  Governor  of  Done- 
gal Castle,  2 

sisters,  the,  vi,  14,  322,  358, 

462 
Brookes,  of  Leighton,  2 

,  temp.  Edward  I,  2 

,  the  Irish,  1,  2 

Brooke,  Thomas  (b.  1644),  3 

,  William,  barrister  (brother), 

11-12,  36,  82,  94-5,  154,  170, 
182,  233,  248,  252,  275,  287, 
311,   321-2,  345,   476-7,  485, 
488,  579,  604,  675 
Chief  Clerk  to  Lord  Chancellor 

of  Ireland,  12 
"Memorabilia,"  46,  48-9 
character,  13,  41,  74,  267,  487 
See  also  Letters 

,  William,  Master  in  Chancery 

(uncle),  26,  78 

,  William  of  Dromavana,  3 

,  Wm,  President   Irish    Col- 
lege   of    Physicians    (grand- 
father), 4,  6 
Brown,  Horatio — 

"  Venetian  Studies,"  464 
Browning,  478-9,  504,  526,  538-9, 
636,  640,  672 
"  Sordollo,"  540 

,  Mrs,  113,  136,  504 

"  Aurora  Leigh,"  132 
Briihl,  the  Countess,  160 
Brunnen,  152  v.,  407  v.,  426  v.d., 
523  V. 

,  family  source,  1 

Bryant,  Mrs,  539 

Bryce,  Lady,  505,  647,  649-50 

Z 


696 


INDEX 


Bryce,  Viscount,  vi,  808,  363-4, 
385-6,  417,  505,  630,  635, 
638-50,  669 

Lecture    on    the    Relation    of 
Etliics  to  Religion,  646 

See  also  Letters 
Byron,  23,  208,  304,  568 

"  Childe  Harold,"  23,  93 

"  Conrad,"  189 

"  Corsair,"  189 

"  Manfred,"  23 

"  The  Prisoner  of  Chillon,"  108 

"  The  Vision  of  Judgment,"  23 
Bucephalus,  80 
Buchan — 

"  Text  Book  of  Meteorology," 
142 
Buchanan,  Sir  A.,  147,  157-9 
Buckle,  H.  T.,  123 
Budget,  the,  646 
Bullen,  Anne,  130 
"  Bulls  of  Bashan,"  19 
Bund,  the  German,  164 
Bundoran,  239  v. 
Bunsen,  Baron,  134,  152,  163 
Burke's  Select  Works,  545 
Burne  Jones,  54,  317,  413-14,  419, 
469,  470,  508,  532,  579,   597, 
605,  612 

"Love  Among  the  Ruins,"  579 
Burnet — 

"Thirty-nine  Articles,"  67,  74, 
77 
Burnley,  497  v. 
Burns,  Robert,  396 
Burroughs,  Herbert,  359 
Bury,  497  v. 
Bushe,  Constance,  670 
Butcher,  Henry,  545 
Butler,  Bishop — 

"  Sermons,"  82 
"  Butts,"  the,  33  v. 

C^DMON,  373,  875 

"  Crist  and  Satan,"  375 

"  Riming  Poem,"  375 

"  Salomo  and  Saturn,"  375 

Oairne,  on  the  Slave  Trade,  166 

Cairns,  Earl,  125 

Cairo,  600 

Calderon,  Spanish  dramatist,  472 

Calvinism,  44,  75 

Calvinists,  371 

Cambridge,  212  v. 

Camden,  on  the  Grahams,  5 


Cameron,  Sir  Duncan,  477-8 

Campagna,  295-6  v.d. 

Campbell,  Anne  (Brooke's  grand- 
mother), 6 

,  Miss.     See  Letters 

,  Sir  Colin,  133 

Campden  Hill,  104 

Campo  Santo,  the,  520  v.d. 

Canada, 645 

,  the  spirit  of,  615 

Canaletto,  573 

Canongate,  266-7  V. 

Canterbury,  223 

Cape,  the,  600 

Capella,  347 

Capitalists,  American,  513 

Capri,  429  v.d. 

Cardiff,  333,  497  v. 

Carlisle,  Earl  and  Countess  of, 
249,  262-3,  270,  292-3,  803-4 
317, 336-7, 342-4,  419-21,  602, 
612 

Carlyle,  60,  104 
"  Essays,"  544-5 
"  History    of    Frederick     the 

Great,"  110,  123 
"  John  Sterling,"  60 
"  Sympathy  with  Prussia,"  244 

Carnarvon,  Lord,  176-7 

Castletown,  Lord  and  Lady  (the 
Pitzpatricks),  20,  25,  51,  62, 
76,  78,  92,  97-100,  106,  115, 
233,  513-14,  532-3,  629 

Castor  and  Pollux,  347 

Cathedral  of  Pisa,  521  v.d. 

Caucasus,  the,  622 

Cavan  Co.,  3 

Cavendishes,  the,  292 

Cawdor,  Lord,  306 

Chagford,  389-90  v.d.,  428 

Chalmers'  daughter,  222 

Chambers'  Encyclopcedia,  481 

Chamonix,  108-9 

Champs  Elys6es,  256  v. 

Channing,  W.  E.,  119 

Character,  on,  85 

Charles  I,  26 

Chailes  II,  "  our  most  religious 
king,"  120 

Charleton,  145 

Chastelard,  267 

Chatterton,  T.,  78 

Chaucer,  296,  396,  601 

"  Romaunt  of  the  Rose,"  258 

Cheltenham,  145 


INDEX 


697 


Cheshire,  Brookes  migrate  from, 

2,7 
Chester,  497  v. 

,  Bishop  of,  221,  223 

Chesterton,  Mr  G.  K.,  311 
Choyne,  Rev.  Canon,  573,  650 
C^igwell,  180  V. 
Children — 
duty  of  parents  to,  412 
affection  for,  419,  433-4 
training  of,  423-5 
Cholera,  17,  30,  36,  61,  207 
Chowbent,  497  v. 
Christ,  128,  150,  262 
Nature    of,    87,  127,  140,  162, 
203-5,  248-9,   300-1,  309-10, 
314,  316,  326,  331,  356,  363, 
448,  452,  454,  468,  605 
Love  of,  88,  90,  126,  204,  489, 
536-7,  604,  608,  659,  661,  665, 
684 
Christ  Church,  Clifton,  822 

,  Oxford,  27 

Christianity,  his  presentation  of, 
55,   61,   90,   95,   116,  119-20, 
224-6,     248,     262-3,     290-1, 
300-1,  306-14,  356,  360,  448, 
524 
historical,  454 
world's  need  of,  662 
Christie's,  438 

Christmas  greetings,  394,647,661, 
665 
festivities,  646 
"  Chronicles,"  Book  of,  161 
Church  Congress,  240 

of  England,  54,  58,  115,  135, 

152,  155-6,  164,  241,  254,  267, 
307,  316,  319,  356,  400,  410, 
489,  507,  530,  571,  595,  601, 
611,  663 
Broad  Church,  25,  62,  79-80, 
93-94,  103,  114,  143,  164-5, 
173-4,  182,  185,  190,  193-4, 
214,  217,  221-2,  225,  240,  252, 
260,  315,  318-9 
rupture  with,  118-9,  100-1,  247, 

251,  267,  314-5 
secession,  282,  309-10,  315-31, 
351-4,  363,  493,  496,  599-600, 
687 
See  also  Evangelicalism 
Church,  Dean,  545 

of  the  Messiah,  Birmingham, 

465,  497 


Church  Times,  852-8 
Cincinnatus,  402 
Civic  conscience,  absence  of,  580 
Clarke,  Sir  Andrew,  359 

,  William,  359 

, ,  378,  640 

Cleon,  541 

Clergy,  the  Anglican,  118,  121-2 
Cloud-bursts,  683 
Olough,  A.  H.,  644 
"  Amours  de  Voyage,"  644 
'•  The  Bothy,"  644 
Cloyne,    Rev.    Joseph    Stopford, 

Bishop  of,  7,  8 
Club  for  Working  Girls,  459 
Colvin,  Sidney,  597 
Cockin,  Rev.  S.,  27-8,  30,  33 
Coercion  Bill,  369-70 
Coghill,  Sir  Jocelyn,  52 
"Colborne,"  30,36,  38 
Colenso,    Bishop,    146,   161,   162, 

226,  247 
Coleridge,  87,  288,  527,  600 
"  Aids  to  Reflection,"  60 
"Notes  of  Shakespeare,"  129 
College  days,  35,  89,  40-3,  45,  52, 

73 
Collins,  Sir  William,  677-8 
Cologne,  157  v. 
Columbus,  70 
Commons,  House  of,  369-71,  876- 

7,  389,  512,  599,  606,  645 
Clergy  in,  219 
See  also  Parliament 
Como,  lake,  399  v. 
Comtc,  112 
Congregation,  types    of    his,   91, 

105-6,  157-8,  167,  178,  212-3, 

221-2,  288-9,  355,   357,   359- 

60, 363,  407-9,  498-9,  534-5 
Conservatives,  125,  189,  303,  371 
Constables,  the,  265 
Constitution  Hill,  669  v. ' 
Contemplation  at  end  of  life,  467 
Conwall,  0 

Conybeare,  W.  J.,  165 
Cook,  Rev.  Flavel  S.,  322-3 
Coquorel,  a    French    Protestant, 

222-3 
"  Corinthians  XIII,"  188 
Cornwall,  475 
Parliamentary  seat  in,  offered 

to  Brooke,  630 
Costa,  Giovanni,  317, 369, 414,  418, 

438-9,  602 


698 


INDEX 


Country  holidays  for  slum  chil- 
dren, 360-1 
Cour  des  Coniptes,  255-6  v. 
Courtown,  Earl  of,  8 
Cousin,  v., 

"Criticisms,"  40 
Coventry,  497  v. 
Cowper, 

"  John  Gilpin,"  63 
Crackanthorpe,  Mrs., 

' '  Letters  of  Diana  Lady  Chester- 
field," 610 

See  also  Letters 
Craig  EUachie,  639 
Cramming  system,  381 
Cremation,  676 
Criticism,  its  influence  on  poetry, 

437 
Cromwell's  iconoclasm,  239 

a  Stopford  in  Irish  army,  7-8 
Cross,  Mr,  395 

Street,  Manchester,  497 

Croydon,  497 
Crystal  Palace,  93  v. 
Crilmaine,  4,  5 

Curacies,  search    for,  81-2,   104, 
114,  172,  179 

See  Appointments 
Curates'  Clerical  Club,  184-5,  241 
"  Cuthbert  Bede," 

"Verdant  Green,"  27 
Cynewulf ,  373,  376 
Cynicism,  on,  380-1 

Dacbes,  the,  342 

Daily  News,  264,  311,  327,  353 

Dalkey  Island,  26  v.,  29  v.,  31  v., 

263  V. 
Dalley,  Mr  Frank  W.,  544-5 
Dalton,  Mrs,  615 
Dante,  71,  279,  373,  396,  679 

"  Divine  Comedy,"  227 

"Inferno,"  34 

"  Paradiso,"  258,  281,  510 

"  Purgatorio,"  190 

Beatrice,  281 
Darwin,  Charles,  116,  141 

"  Domesticated  Animals,"  142 
Davies,  Dr   Morriston,  355,   489, 
680,  682 

,  Rev.   Llewellyn,    185,   242, 

252,  596 
Davis,  Jefferson,  183 

,  Rev.  V.  D.,  409-10 

Davitt,  Michael,  359 


Death  of  Brooke,  663,  674-6 
as  the  Great  Romance,  667 
habit  of  not  caring  for,  608,  681 
Debating  Society,  Bedford  Chapel, 

359-60,  378-9,  393 
De  Brock,  Leighton,  2 
De  B.  Gibbons,  Dr  H.— 
"  History      of     Kidderminster 
Grammar  School,"  28 
Delgany,  51  v. 
De  Morgan,  Mr  and  Mrs,  605-6, 

613 
Demosthenes,  673 
Denison,  Archdeacon,  54 
Denmark,  164 
Dent  du  Morcles,  302  d, 
De  Quincey,  506 
Derby,  {14th)  Lord,  125 
Derbj'shire,  147 
Derrymore,  5 
Derwentwater,  569-70  v. 
Despotism,  210,  671 
De  Vescis,  the,  20,  25,  32 
Devil  and  the  Kaiser,  657 

,  personality  of,  68-9,  322-3 

"Devil's  Spadeful,"  the,  27  v. 
Devonshire,  337  v. 
Diary,  extracts  from,   1,  10,  15, 
25-6,  33-4,  39,  41-2,  54,  77-8, 
83,  92-3,  96-7,  100,  102,  113, 
119-23, 152,  210,  239, 244,  248, 
274,  278,   280-3,   301-2,   809, 
316,  321-2,  332,  351,  382,  412, 
426,  447,  471-2,  479-80,  484- 
90,  493,  502-18,  547-9,  552-5, 
558-63,  567-80,  583-4,  586-7, 
593-617,  651-3,   665,  668-74, 
676 
ref.    to,    74,    118-9,    192,    229, 
472-3,  501-2,  551,  556-7,  583, 
591 
Dickens,  48 

"Edwin  Drood,"  594 
Mr  Podsnap,  14 
Mr  Squeers,  89 
Dickenson,  Lowes,  pamphlet  on 
the  war,  658-9 
j  Dilke,  Sir  Charles,  259-60 
I  Dinner  parties,  on,  505 
I   Diotima,  486 
Disestablishment    of    the    Irish 

Church,  241-2 
Disraeli,  125,  272,  309,  378-9,  636 
Dissent.     See  Nonconformists 
Divinity  examination,  105,  127 


INDEX 


699 


Domestic  Misaious,  361 

Donegal  Oastlo,  2 

,  339  v.,  4G3  V. 

"Dovo  Cottage,"  457,  45'J,  529, 
642 

Dowden,  Professor  Edward,  3C6-7 

Down  and  Connor,  Bishop  of,  321 

Dowson,  Rev.  H,  E.,  533 

Drama,  Lightfoot's  sermon  on  the, 
267 

,  the,  52-3,  428,  523 

Dramatists,  Elizabethan,  317 

Dreadnoughts,  610-1,  618,  646 

Dreams,  514-5,  611-2,  670 

Drill  and  shooting,  596-7,  646 

Dromore,  18  v. 

Druid  circle  near  Keswick,  572  v. 

Drummond,  Rev.  Dr  James,  40 

Dryburgh,  266  v. 

Dryden — 
"Tempest,"  428 
"  Paradise  Lost,"  428 

Dublin,  4,  18,  22,  39  v.,  41-3, 
66  v.,  97,  170,  183  v.,  240  v., 
267,  282  v.,  486  v.,  497  v., 
516  v.,  528 

Dublin  University  Magazitie,  con- 
tributions to  ;tho,  45-7,  82, 
116 

Dukinfield,  497  v. 

Dufferin,  Lord,  539 

Dufiy,  G.,  539 

Dumas,  Alex.,  528 

"Dunfauaghy"  or  "The  End  of 
the  World,"  340  v. 

Dunster,  Somerset,  528  v.d. 

Diirer,  Albert — 
"  Melancolia,"  54 

Eade,  Rev.  C,  25 

"  Early  Christianity  in  Ireland," 

593 
Earth,  Mother,  554,  556,  558 
Earthquake    experiences,    460-1, 

522 
East,  his  kinship  with  the,  585-6 
Eastbourne,  596  v. 
Eastern     Question     Association, 

Committee  of,  636 
Ebers,  G.— 

"Die  5  Bucher  Mose,"  220 
Eburys,  the,  178-9 
Eckermann's      "  Conversation&," 

396,  464 
Gretchen,  397 


Economist,  640 
Eden,  the,  344  v.d. 
Edgehill,  439  v. 
Edgeworth,  Maria,  4,  32 
Edgeworthstowu,  4 
Edinburgh,  265-7  v.d.,  497  v.,  539, 
638 

Philosophical    Society,   In- 
augural Lecture,  264 

Edinburgh  Bevieiv,  165 
Education  and  crime,  290-1 
advice    to    his    children,    335, 

429 
Edward  I,  Brookes,  temp.,  2 

YII,  King,  259,  544 

Egorton,  Sir  Philip,  collection  of 

fossil  fishes,  131,  136 
Egham,  684 
Egypt,  327 

Elomentals,  551,  556,  565 
Eliot,  George,  394-5,  406 

"  Middlemarch,"  259 
Elizabethan  origin  of  family,  2 
Ely  cathedral,  602 
Embankment,  the,  669  v. 
Emerson — 

•'  Essays,"  41,  42 
Divinity  School  Address,  42 
Endymion,  33 
England,    10,    37,    80,   170,   173, 

271-2,   332-3,  369,  385,  391, 

432,  446,  464,  515,  517,  520, 

531,  544,  580,  641-3,  648,  663, 

682 
English,  the,  560 
Enigmas  of  life,  234 
Emiiskilleu,  240  v. 
,  Lord,    collection    of    fossil 

fishes,  131,  136 
Epictetus,  541 
Epicurus,  31 

"  Epistles,"  St  John's,  495 
Erin,  21 
Erne,  240 

Erzeroum,  fall  of,  671 
Eskdale,  250  v. 
'•  Essays  and  Reviews,"  120,  130, 

134,  135,  193 
Eternal  employment,  518 

punishment,  45,  61-2,  139, 

174-5,  182-3,  305,  307,  322-3, 
400 

Ethics,  New  Testament,  610 
Euripides,  541,  673 
"  Alcestis,"  574 


700 


INDEX 


Evangelicalism,  Brooke's  early, 
16,  88,  313 ;  in  Irish  Church, 
48-5,  57  ;  rupture  with,  60-4, 
75-6,  101-2, 128, 189, 141, 195, 
212-4;  ref.  to,  181,  185,  193, 
217,  260,  646 

Evans,  Rev.  E.  D.  Priestly,  83 

Evening  Mail,  Dublin,  477 

Eversley,  211 

"  Everyman's  Library,"  192 

Ewald,  163 
"  Leben  Jesu,"  142 

Examination  Hall,  Oxford,  603 

Examiner,  364 

Exeter,  497  v. 

"  Ezekiel,"  Book  of,  230 

Faith,  the  need  of,  70-1,  494-5 
Nemesis  of,  105 
ground  of,  807,  461-2,  496,  543 
"Falkiuer,"  34 
Famine,  17 
Par  Easdale,  512 
Farinata,  34 
Farrar,  Dean,  291-2 
Fatalism,  365 
Fatherhood  of  God,  307,  356,  408, 

424-6,  433,  452,  456,  468,  500 
Featherstonhaughs,  the,  51 
Fermanagh,  3 
Fern  Lodge,  Campden  Hill,  104, 

148-9 
Ferrier — 
"  Lectures  on  ]\Ietaphysics,"142 
"  The  Reign  of  Law,"  142 
Fichte,  60,  139,  154 
"  Characteristics  of  the  Present 

Age,"  79 
Firenze,  444  v. 
Fitzpatricks,  the.     See  Lord  and 

Lady  Castletown 
Fiume,  Morto,  521  v. 
Flavian  Palace,  294 
Fletcher,  Miss  Constance,  503 
Flodden  Field,  5 
"  Flora,"  29 
Florence,   164,   294-5  v.,   349-50, 

383  v.,  442,  460  v.,  522  V. 
Flowers,   fondness   for,   181,  197, 

260,  415,  420,  427,  429,  439, 

445,  489,  490-1,  574,  603,  617, 

661,   668-9,  674,  676,  678-9, 

682,  684,  686-9 
Foley  Arms,  Malvern,  509  v. 
Folkestone,  93  v. 


Forbes,  J.   D.,   theory  of 
action,  130 

Foreign  Office,  144,  153,  156-8. 

Forster,  376 

"  Four  Winds,"  Surrey,  490-1, 
588-9,  591,  623-7,  630,  633, 
637,  648-9,  655,  668,  670, 
677-8,  680,  685-6 

Fox,  Charles  James,  610 

Franco,  93,  104  v.,  329-30  v.,  333, 
432,  681-2 
compared  with  Germany,  242, 
244-5,  253,  650 

Freare,  Mr,  659 

Freeman,  E.  A.,  258,  375-6 

Fremantle — 

"  Essay  on  the  Moral  Basis  of 
Christian  Teaching,"  185 

French,  the,  656,  663-4 

Friendships,  25,  62,  74,  76,  81,  92, 
99,  109-10,  152,  173-4,  183, 
233,  249,  276,  288,  315,  317, 
332,  855,  858,  368,  400,  417-9, 
469,  474,  542,  591,  625,  632-3, 
647-8,  667,  679-80,  687 
limited,  41,95-6 

Frith,  W.  P.,  289 

Froude,  106,  130 

Fry,  Elizabeth,  126 

Fulham  Palace,  326 

Fuller,  on  the  Grahams,  5 

Furnivall,  295 

Gaelic  League,  535-6 

Gainsborough,  414 

Galashiels,  266  v. 

"  Galatians,"  Epiatle  to,  127 
I   Galilee,  Lake  of,  649 
1   Gallery,  Lord  Bute's,  93 
:   Galway,  5,  170,  453 
j  Gambetta,  253 

Garnett,  R.,  403,  404 

Garrett  Horder,  Dr  W.,  356 
!       article     on     Brooke's     hymns 
1  in    "Julian's    Dictionary   of 

I  Hymnology,"  356 

i   Gaskell,  Mrs— 

"  Life  of  Charlotte  Bronte,  93, 
107 

Gee  Cross,  497  v. 

Generosity,  18,  416 

Geneva,  467-8  v, 

Geneve,  Lac  de,  108  v. 

Geology.     Sec  Science 

George  III,  character,  568 


INDEX 


701 


George  IV,  568,  671 
German  character,  670 

Jews  and  Christians,  55i 

race,  non-existent,  650 

scare,  646 

women,  621 
Germany,  333,  611,   658-9,  663, 
682 

compared  with  France,  242,  253, 
650 

divided    against    itself,    655-6, 
673,  687 

when  it  was  good,  646 

See  also  Prussia 
Ghosts,  22,  267 
Gibbon,  287 
Gibton,  Miss  Bessie,  34 
Gifford,  William,  400 
Gill,  Sir  David,  600 
Giorgione,  92,  414 
Girdlestone,  Rev.  Canon,  27 
Girl  friendships,  12-13,  26,  29,  34, 

48-9 
Girls'  Club,  667 

Gladstone,  W.  G.,  125,  189,  251, 
309,  366-7,  371,  397-8,  516, 
520 

Son,  222 

Miss,  222-3 
Glanmore  Castle,  51  v. 
Glasgow,  333,  497  v.,  534  v.,  568  v. 

people,  555 

Glastonbury,  435  V. 

Glendoen  rectory  (birthplace),  1, 

6,  15,  342 
Glenfinlas,  73  v. 
Glengary  Hill,  283  v. 
Glover,  Mrs  Arnold,  657-8 

,  Edith,  668 

Gneist,  152 

God,  man's  need  of,  148-51,  408, 
500 

our  conception  of,  510 
Godwin,  Mary,  505 

,  William,  506 

Goethe,  67,  74,  77,  87,  136,  154, 
162,  169,  464,  504,  520,  548, 
559,  588,  603,  609,  629,  079 

"  Essays  on  Art,"  77 

"  Faust,"  428 

"Homische  Elegien,"  127 

"Wilhelm  Meister,"  49 

on  "  Hamlet,"  636 
Goldwin  Smith,  158 
Gomshall,  685 


Gore  family,  the,  7 

Gorlois,  550 

Gorton,  497  v. 

Gosse,  E.,  671 
"  Father  and  Son,"  604 

Gow,  Rev.  Henry,  320,  534,  604, 
607 

Graeme,  Fergus,  4,  9,  104 

Graham,  Colonel  Richard,  4 

,  Hector,  4 

notoriety,  5,  239 

,  Sir  Richard,  5 

Grahams  of  Liddesdale,  the,  5 

Gramophone,  503 

Granard,  4 

Granston  Manor,  25,  51  v. 

Grant  Duffs,  the,  425 

Grasmere,  401-2  v.,  436  v.,  457  v., 
464-5  v.,  519,  529  d.,  553,  631, 
642-4  v.,  687 

Churchyard,  674  v. 

Grassmarket,  266 

Graves,  Mr  A.  P.,  539 

Gray,  Thomas,  296 

Great  Portland  Street,  579 

Greece,  570,  679 

Green,  J.  R.,  183,  224,  233,  242, 

258,    262,    264-5,    288,    315, 

327-8,  371-7,  423-4,  541,  583, 

584,  597-8,  635 

"  Primers,"  284,  511 

"  Short  History  of  the  English 

People,"  544,  6l6 
"Beowulf,"  511 
"The   History  of   the   English 

People,"  297 
"The     Making    of    England," 
371-2.     See  also  Letters. 

,  Mrs  J.  R.  (n6e  Alice  Stop- 
ford),  372,  374-5,  600,  602 

Park,  92  v. 

,  Professor  T.  H.,  573 

Greene,  "  Manual  of  the  Sub- 
Kingdom  CiElenterata,"  132 

,    Tom,     "  my    old    College 

friend,"  183 

Greenhead  Gyll,  552  v.d. 

Greg,  W.  R.,  164,  222-8,  225 

Gregory,  St,  514 

Grenier  d'Abondance,  255  v. 

Greta,  the,  631 

Grey,  Sir  Edward,  on  Germany, 
655 

Grimm,  77 

Grindelwald,  390v. 


702 


INDEX 


GrosvGiior  Place,  92-3  v. 
Grote,  George — 
"Plato,"  142 
Grove,  Mr  R.,  27 
Guest,  Miss,  368.    See  also  Letters 
Guide,  347 
Guizot,  222 
Gurney,  Mr,  804-5 
,  Mrs,  304-5 

Habbeblby  Valley,  27,  37  v. 

Hackney,  457  v. 

Haldane,  Mr  R.  B.,  on  German- 
izing University  Teaching, 678 

Hamburg,  219 

Hamerton,  P.  G. — 

"The  Camp  in  the  Highlands; 
or.  Thoughts  about  Art,"  146 

Hamilton  Family,  the,  7 

Hammersmith,  curacy  offered,  145 

Hampstead,  497-8  v.,  534  v.,  676 

cemetery,  274-5  v. 

Hill,  669  V. 

Hanna,  222 

Hardy,  Thomas,  688-9 
"  The  Dynasts,"  689 

Hargrove,  Rev.  C,  531,  533 

Harrison,  Frederic,  398,  680-1 

"Harry    Coverdale's   Courtship," 
77 

Hartmann,  Edward  von,  378 

Hartwig,  Professor,  "  The  Sea  and 
its  Living  Wonders,"  132 

Hascombe,  648 

Hausrath — 
"  Neutestamentliche       Leitge- 
schichte,"  220 

Haweis,  Rev.,  327,  329,  353,  367 

Hawthorne,  N.,  545 

Hay,  Ian,  "  First  Hundred  Thou- 
sand," 669 

Hayes,  Mr  Alfred,  396-7 

Heberden,  Principal  of  Brasenose, 
540 

Heine,  Heinrich,  142 

"  Heliand,"    Anglo-Saxon    poem, 
376 

Helm  Crag,  511 

Henry  VIII,    services    rendered 
to,  4-5 

Henschel,  Sir  George,  See  Letters. 

Herat,  377 

Herbert  Street,  487 

Herder,  Johann  Gottfried — 
"  Werke,"  78 


Heredity.     See  Influences. 
Hero,  the  epic,  403-4 
Herschel — 
"  Lectures  on  Scientific  Subjects," 

142 
Hezekiah,  King,  84 
Hihbert  Journal,  43,  601 
Highgate,  669 
Highlands,  the,  in  rain,  639 
High  Wethersell,   572  v.,  587  v., 

627  V. 
Hindhead,  648 
Hindu  drama,  93 
History,  modern,  40 

ecclesiastical,  105 
Hoffmann,  August  Wilhelm — 

"  Chemistry,"  142 
Hogarths,  573 
Hogg,  James,  507 
Hog's  Back,  648 
"  HDhenlinden,"  85 
Plole,  Dean,  64 
Holland,  679 
Holroyd,  Sir  Charles  and  Lady, 

607 
Holstein,  164-5 
Holy  Communion,  357,  489 

refused,  322-4 
Holy  Land,  the,  630 
Holyrood,  267 

Homburg,  444-5  v.,  486  v.,  548  v., 
563-6  i;.cZ.,  559-61  v.,  563  v., 
572,  583,  618-21  v.,  644 
Wells,  the,  564 

Elizabeth-Brunnen,  556,  560 

Louisa-Brunnen,     556-7,     559, 
560-3,  586-7,  619 

Stahl-Brunnen,  556 
Home.  See  Mental  characteristics 
Homer,  71 

Achilles,  404 

"Iliad,"  516,  545 

"  Odyssey,"  545 
Home  Rule,  12,  431,  464,  629-30 
640,  642-3 

Rulers,  544 

Honeybrook,  37  V. 
Honeyman,  Charles,  289 
Hooker,  127 

Hope  Street,  Liverpool,  497  v. 
Horace,  quoted,  603 
Home,  Sylvester,  630 

Yeats'  sermon,  630 
Horn  Head,  341  d. 
Hornsey,  669 


INDEX 


703 


Host,  Brooke  as,  414-9,  459,  591 
Hotel  Costanzi,  293 

d'Angletorro,  Berlin,  157  v, 

de  rAncre,  108  v. 

de  Ville,  Paris,  255  v. 

on  fire,  437-8 

Houghton,  Lord,  417 

Howard,  Lady  Mary,  402-3,  419-21 

Howard,  Lady  Kachel,  30G 

,  Miss,  287 

"  Sunshine  and  Shadow,"  287 
See  also  Letters 
Howards.     See  Earl  of  Carlisle 
Howth,  263 

Hughes,  E.,  the  painter,  607 
Huddersfield,  497  v. 
Hughes,  Rev.  Hugh  Price,  515 
Huguenot  families,  25 
Hull,  497  V. 
Human    divinity,    47,    310,    516, 

640 
Humboldt — 

"  Travels,"  78 
Humour,  12,  39,  81,  240,  360,  426, 

438,  446,  483-4,  605,  511,  541, 

667 
Hunt,  Holman,  104,  238, 317,  418, 

573,  601-2,  613 
"  Life,"  602 

,  Leigh,  507 

Hunter,  Rev.  Dr,  320,  534-5 
Hurstcote,  365  v.,  434  v.,  572  v. 
Huxley,  Professor,  116,  130,  182, 

146,  432,  599 
"Physiography,"  544 
"  Lectures  on  Physiology."  133 
Hyde  Park  oratory,  193,  400 
"Hymns  Ancient  and  Modern," 

611 

• in  childhood,  18-19 

in  worship,  409-10 

Ibben, 520 

"  Doll's  House,"  554 

"  The  Wild  Duck,"  554,  596 

'^  Hedda  Gabler,"  554 

"  The  Master  Builder,"  554 

Werde,  596 

Hialmar,  596 

Gregers,  596 
Idealism  and  the  real,  447 

power  of  awakening,  455 

true  and  false,  598 
Illiey,  187  v. 
Ilfracombe,  340  v. 


Imagination,    9,    15-16,    29,    68, 
269,    309-10,   332,    372,   452, 
474,  490,  521-2,  511,  550,  555, 
558,  633,  636 
culture  of,  39,  71,  265,  553 
Immortality,  254,  311,  356,   392, 
397,  405,  410-11,  461,  471-2, 
488,    543-4,   613,  655-6,  661, 
666,  676 
Impromptu  speaking,  185 
Incarnation,  the,  309,  319,  355 
Inchbold,  414 

"  Tintagel,"  550 
India,  133,  377,  381 
Industrial    civilization    doomed, 

652-4. 
Influences  which  helped  to  mould 
Brooke's  character — 
books,  etc.,  3,  10,  23,  28,  39-40, 

42,  €7-8,  87,  116,  453 
clerical,  8,  9,  77 

family,  3.  10-11,  16,  19,  22,  24, 
31-2,   41,   113-14,    173,    180, 
276-8,  282 
friendships,  25,  62,  76,  92,  103, 

129,  196-200,  629 
Graham  blood,  4,  5,  10,  104 
Irish,  9,  13,  17,  340,  591,  637 
love  of  Nature,  27 
Mazzini,  310 
multi-national,  8 
mystical,  24-5,  138 
pastoral,  9,  111,  119,  173 
various,   59-62,   70,   86-90,   95, 

173-5,  178 
war,  63 

Sec  also  Love,  the  master  prin- 
ciple 
Innsbruck,  575-6,  v.d. 
Inspiration,  135 
verbal,  44 

of  the  Bible,  184,  161-2 
Insurance  Act,  625 
Interlaken,  494  v. 
International     Picture    Gallery, 

567 
Intra,  v575-7  v.d. 
Inverness  Courier,  247 
Ipswick,  497  V. 

Irish  Ecclesiastical  Qazette,  10 
Irving,  Washington, 

"Works,"  142 
Ireland,  life  in,  10,  15,  35,  41,  48- 
53 
reference  to,  2,  5,  8,  12,  22,  95, 


704 


INDEX 


170,  181-2,   233,  289,   240-1, 

278,  299,  803,  333,  340-1,  864, 

385,  464,  634,  642 
Irish  Church,  43-5,  76,  158,  241-2 
Stopford,  name  in,  8,  10 

College  of  Physicians,  4 

Literary  Society,  481,  539 

literature,  629-30 

National  Gallery,  22 

Party,  515,  533,  606 

question,  432,  515,  641-3 

sympathies,  23,  30,  36,  369- 

71,  376-7,  389-91,  535-6,  539, 

544,  636,  641,  670 
last  words,  671,  674 
Irvingite  Church,  81 
Israelites,  wanderings  of  the,  18, 

23 
Italian  lakes,  457,  476 
Italy,  127,  142,  144,  164,  209,  265, 

271,  293,  333,  371-3,  379,  383, 

393,  432,  442,  602,  620,  526, 

679,  682 
Ivy  house,  283 


Jacks,  Lieut  Maurice,  656,  659- 
64,  673 

,  Lieut  Oliver,  659-60 

,  Captain  Stopford,  682 

,    Mrs    L.     P.    (Miss    Olive 

Brooke),  vi,  345,  660,  682 

,  L.  P.,  673,  603,   613,   615, 

660,  682 
Jackson,  Bishop  of  London,  326-7 
James,  Henry,  419,  523,  528-9 

O.M.  conferment,  669-70 

death,  672-3 

,  William,  lectures  at  Oxford, 

603 
Jameson,  Dr,  525-6 
Japan,  414 
Jebb,  Sir  Richard  Claverhouse — 

"Life,"  594 

Sophocles,  translation  of,  594 
Jena,  645 
Jenkins,  H. — 

"Selections  from  the  Old  and 
New  Testament,"  322 
Jenkins  v.  Cooh,  382-3 
Jermyn  Street  Museum,  182 
Jevons,  Stanley,  142 

On  the  Coal  Supply,  143 
Jews,  the,  342 
Job,  626 


Johnson,  Brooke  compared  with, 

588 
Jowett,  54,  132,  161,  162-3,  164, 

195,  289,  318,  506,  573 
"  Thessalonians,  Galatians  and 

Romans,"  130 
on  good  manners,  254 
influence  on  Swinburne,  612 
Joyousness,  56,  68,  89,  115,  198, 

212,  227,  283,  2:^8-9,  364,  362, 

409,   420,  466,  474,  476,  485, 

492,  586,  590,  612,  623,  627, 

629,  633,  653,  665,  668,  676, 

683 
Judd,  the  American  Minister,  166 
Jukes'    theory    of    Irish     rivers, 

159 
"Julian's   Dictionary  of    Hymn- 

ology,"  356 
"  Jvmker  partei,"  253 
"  Justice,"  280 
Justification,  309 
Jutland,  166 
Juxon,  Bishop,  3 

Kaiser   William    II,  219,    246. 

657,  682,  686 
Kane — 

"Arctic  Explorations,"  82 
Kant,  66,  412 
Karolyi,  Coimt,  Austrian  Minister, 

160 
Katrine,  Loch,  73  v. 
Kavanagh,  T.  H. — 

"How  I  won  the  Victoria  Cross," 
138 
Kean's  acting,  53 
Keats,  208,  364,  546 

"  Endymion,"  481 

"  Ode  to  a  Nightingale,"  431 
Keble,  John — 

"  The  Christian  Year,"  131 
Kegan  Paul  and  Co.,  685 
Kells,  living  of,  2,  3,  233 
Kensington,  497 

Gardens,  346,  606  v. 

Kerry,  683  v. 

Keswick,  Druid  Circle,  572 

Kidderminster,  497  v. 

Grammar  School,  26-8,  31, 

33,  147 
Killarney,  364 
Killiney,  85,  52  v.,  92,  268,  282  v., 

616  i;. 
Kinawley,  3 


INDEX 


705 


King,  Mr  Heury,  78-9,  81-2,  173, 

175-7,  180,  199-1,  211-2,  685 
Kingdom  of  God  (Heaven),  94-6, 

116,  503 
Kinglake,  93 
"  Kings,"  Book  of,  161 
Kingsley,  Charles,  24,  46-48,  61, 

88,   103,   195,   211,  251,   594, 

597-8 
O'Blareaway,  45-6 
"  Two  Years  Ago,"  78 
"Yeast,"  45-6 
Kingstown,  15,  17,  25-6,  30,   40, 

42,  48-9,  52,  61,  74-5,  81-2, 

94,  101,  129,  145,  147,  159 
,  young  ladies  of,  12-13,  161- 

263 
Kipling,  Rudyard,  615 
Kitchener,  Lord,  664 
Knight,  Professor  William,  631-2, 

655-6 
Kurgarten,  the  Homburg,  549  v., 

559  v.d. 


Laboub  Pabty,  606 

Ladysmith,  51 

"  Lady  Ursula's  Adventures,"  508 

Lao  Lugano,  440  v. 

Lago  d'Orta,  258  v.d. 

Lahard,  4 

Lamb,  Charles,  600 

Lambert,  Eev.  Brooke,  329 

Lancashire,  7 

Land  League,  370 

question,  370 

Landseer's  "Sanctuary,"  178 

Landwehr,  the,  253 

Lanercost  Church,  262-3  v. 

Lang,  A.,  545 

Langdale  Strath,  552  v.d. 

Languages,  modern,  40 

Lansdowne,  Lord,  93,  106,  125 

Lascelles,  Sir  P.,  152 

Latin  prose,  40 

La  Touche  family,  the,  25 

Laughing  gas,  537 

Lavater,  J.  K.,  77 

Law,  John,  181 

Lawrence,  Gerald,  615 

,  Miss,  633-4 

Lectures  and  Addresses,  267,  478- 
9,  535,  542,  582,  595,  637 
"Address"  on  the  occasion  of 
secession,  327 


Lectures  and  Addresses — 
Alaric,  Genseric  and  Attila,  102 
Arnold,  IMatthew,  541 
Browning,  480-1,  540 
Buouamico  Buffelmacco,  82-3 
Celt,  the,  481 

Edinburgh    Philosophical    So- 
ciety's Inaugural,  264,  266 
English  History  and  Literature, 
223-4 

Literature  (weekly),  368, 

398 
Martineau's  Memorial  Address, 

452, 454 
Mental  Culture,  70-2 
Milton,  102 
Music,  82 

Pharisee  and  Publican,  93 
Philosophical  Aspects  of  Poetry, 

266 
Political,  430-1 
Religion  in  Life  and  Literature, 

497 
Sedan,  after,  272-3 
Sexes  in  Nature,  difference  be- 
tween, 82 
Shakespeare's  Plays,  579 
Spenser's  Poetry,  102 
Theology  in  the  English  Poets, 

215,  247-8 
Working-men,  to,  306-8,  451 
Lee,  General,  183-4 

,  Rev.  Dr  Robert — 

"  Inspiration,"  78 

,  Sir  Sidney,  on  Elizabethan 

Literature,  626 
Leeds,  497  v.,  530  v.,  532-3  v. 
Lefroy  family,  the,  25 
Legion    d'Honneur,    Paris,    255- 

6  v.d. 
Legros,  Alphonse,  317,  414,  418 
Leicester,  497  v.,  534  v. 
Leighton,  Brookes  of,  2 

do  Brock,  2 

Leix  Castle,  4,  5,  239  v. 
Leonardo — 

"  Monna  Lisa,"  279 
L'Estrange  family,  the,  25 
Letterkenny,  1,  6,  7 
Letters :  to — 

his  father,  160,  221-3 
his    mother,    20-22,    31,   34-8, 
131,   147,   161,  167-8,  202-3, 
263-4,   391-2,   394,    398-400, 
410-11,  631-2 


706 


INDEX 


Letters ;  to — 

his  wife,  76,  98,  175,  180-5, 
186-91,  196,  211-12,  229,  235- 
41,  245,  249,  254-9,  263,  268- 
72 

his  brothel"  Arthur,  15,  172, 
277-8,  364-6,  395,  411 

his  brother  Edward,  153,  299, 
393-4,  460,  462 

his  brother  William,  12,  81,  91, 
97,  104,  105-7,  108-10,  112, 
116,  123,  124-9,  131-6,  144-7, 
157-9,  161-7,  168-71,  175-6, 
178-9,  185-6,  195-6,  214-9, 
230-3,  235-6,  249-54,  259-60, 
265-7,  272,  274-5,  278,  292-3, 
299-300,  302-3,  305-6,  322-4, 
530-1,  533-4 

his  sisters,  590,  677 

his  sister  Augol,  534,  630 

his  sister  Cecilia,  100-1,  631-2, 
657,  684 

his  sister  Honor,  213,  299,  803- 
4,  324-5,  463-4,  465-7,  474, 
490-2,  547-8,  592 

his  children,  15,  332-50, 419,  590 

his  daughter  Evelyn,  337-9, 
343-7,  427-8,  431-2,  434-41, 
444-5 

his  daughter  Honor,  325-6,  340, 
342-3,  347-8,  368-9,  377-81, 
441-2,  460-2,  470,  490,  534-5, 
537,  581,  655,  666 

his  daughter  Maud  (Mrs  T.  W. 
Rolleston),  335-7,  340-2, 345- 
6,  348-50,  430-4,  530,  535-6, 
540-1,  618-9,  621-2,  627,  630, 
655-6,  660,  678-9,  681,  686-7 

his  daughter  Olive  (Mrs  L.  P. 
Jacks),  428,  437-8,442-6,  541, 
645-6,  650,  659-60 

his  son  Stopford,  333-5,  469 

his  daughter  Sybil  (Mrs  L.  L. 
Brooke),  427,  429-30,  444 

his  daughter  Verona,  349-50, 
426,  428-9,  431,  440-2 

his  grandchildren,  590 

his  grandson,  Lieut  Maurice 
Jacks,  061-4,  673 

Armstrong,  Mrs,  687-8 

Blatchford,  Rev.  A.,  586-7 

Bryce,  Viscount,  308,  363-4, 
369-70,  382,  400-1,  638-50 

Campbell,  Miss,  62,  64-70,  74, 
101-2,  107,  111-12 


Letters :  to — 

Castletown,  Lady,  97-100,  115 
Collins,  Sir  William,  677-8 
Congregation,  his,  363,  467-9 
Crackanthorpe,   Mrs,   381,  479, 

518-9,  520-30,  638-9,  541-2, 

550,  584,  658-9,  662-3 
Dalley,  Mr  Frank  W.,  544-5 
Davies,  Dr  Morriston,  680,  682 
Davis,  Rev.  V.  D.,  409-10 
Freare,  Mr,  659 
Glover,  JMrs  Arnold,  657-8 
Graves,  Mr  A.  P.,  539 
Green,    J.    R,,    224-6,     264-5, 

287-8,  293-7,  371-7,  424-5 

,  Mrs  J.  R.,  629-30,  678 

Guest,  Miss,  657-8,  661,  685-6 
Gurney,  Mr,  304-5 
Harrison,  Frederic,  680-1 
Hayes,  Mr  Alfred,  396-7 
Henschel,  Sir  George,  618, 620-1, 

625-6,  679-80,  683-4 
Howard,  Miss,  287,  300-1,  305, 

'394-6,  400-2 
Knight,  Professor   Wm,  631-2, 

655-6 
Lawrence,  Miss,  633-4 
Lee,  Sir  Sidney,  626 
London,  Bishop  of,  156 
Murray,'     Lady      Mary      {nde 

Howard),  402-3,  419-21 
O'Brien,  Mr  Barry,  539 
one  bereaved,  404-5 
Palgrave,  Francis,  400 
"Mr  P.,"  073 
Road,  Miss,  407-8 
Reid,  Stuart,  626 
Rhys,  Mr  Ernest,  192 
Rothenstoin,  Mr  W.,  623-9,658, 

677,  681-2,  688-9 
Sanderson,  Cobden,  627-8,  679, 

682-3 
Shorter,  Clement,  403-4 
Smith,  Reginald  J.,  K.C.,  686 
Ward,    Mrs    Humphry,   397-8, 

406-7,  619-20,  685 
Warren,  Miss  K.,  408-9,  519-20 
White,  Mr,  684 
Wingfield,  the  Hon.  Mrs,  412, 

629 
general,  12,  28,  29-30,  52-3,  55, 

58,  74,  79,  84,  94,  96-7,  103, 

117,  137,  148,  151,  227,   229, 

287,  292,  293,  465-7,  459,  496, 

543-4,  551,  622-3,  636 


INDEX 


707 


Letters :  from — 
Armstrong,  Rev.  R.  A.,  328-9 
Arnold,  Matthew,  286 
Dowdon,  Professor  Edward,  360 
Green,  J.  R.,  327-8 
Lambert,  Rev,  Brooke,  329 
London,  Bishop  of,  326-7 
Maurice,  P.   D.,  to  Mr  H.  S. 

King, 199-201 
Member  of  St  James*  Chapel 

Congregation,  329-30 
Prussia,    Crown    Princess    of, 

220,  246-7 
Ruskin,  John,  207,  313 
Stanley,   Dean,  to    Mr    H.    S. 

King,  201 
Wicksteed,  Rev.  C,  330-1 
Letter-writing,  345 
Lewes,  George  Henry — 

"  Life  of  Goethe,"  67,  74 
Lewin's    Mead    Chapel,    Bristol, 

536 
Liberals,  144,  303,  369,  371,  464 
Liberty,  desire  for,  143-4 

,   love   of,   328-30,   351,   354, 

423-4,  464-5,  493 
"  Liber  Studiorum,"  22,  50 
Liddesdale,  4,  5,  250  v. 
Liddon,  Canon,  267,  417 
Lightfoot,  Bishop,  267 
Lille,  rue  de,  255  v. 
Lincoln,  President,  183-4 
Lisduff,  25,  513 
Lisson  Grove,  92,  94,  96 
Literary  Society  founded  by  the 

Brookes,  78 
Literature,  114.  254,  284-7,   291, 
306,  360-1, '376,  637,  675 
relation  to  religion,  46-47 
criticism,   41,   46,   48,   85,  105, 
108-9,  129-30,  132,  134,  188, 
199,    223,    258-9,    297,     345, 
371-2,    375-6,    395-6,   403-4, 
406-7,  437,  479,  504,  511,  524, 
628-30,  638-9,  540,  548,  570, 
677-8,  594-9,  601,  609,  611-4, 
620,  624,  626,  636,  644,  647, 
662,  669-71,  679,  081,  688-9 
Little    Portland    Street    Chapel, 

London,  497-8 
Liturgy,  revision  of,  179 
Liverpool,  534  v. 
Livingstone,  David — 

"  Travels,"  78 
Llanberis,  233  v.,  235  v.,  683  v. 


Lloyd  George,  Mr — 
attack  on  land  monopoly,  645- 

46 
his  consoling  existence,  583 
Local  Government  Bill,  Ireland, 

464 
Locke's  Essay,  40 
Lockhart's  daughter,  266 

"  Life  "  of  Scott,  618 
Lodore  waterfall,  570 
Loftie,  Rev,  W.  J.,  262 
Logic,  Aristotelian,  40 
London,   82,   86,  91-2,   180,   184, 

195,  227,  284,   298,  463,  645, 

667-8,  677 
lure  of,  76-8,  84,  173,  187,  189, 

507,  587-8,  007 
hatred  of,  91,  111,  265,   373-4, 

380,  413,  431,  445,  458,   464, 

482,  502,  504,  551,  578,  587-8, 

617,  648 
,  Bishop  of,  88, 105, 107, 147, 

156,  173-4, 176-7,  211,  247-8, 

326-7 
Longford  Co.,  4 
Louise,   Princess,   216,   218,   251, 

444 
Louis  of  Hesse,  Prince,  167 
Louvre,  the,  255  v. 
Love    the    master   principle,   65, 

70-1,  84,  87,  90,  112,  138, 140, 

281,  308,  313,  353,   391,  408, 

421,  428-5,  441-2,  450-1,  457, 

408,  491,  507,  543,  601-4,  611, 

614-15,  623,  627-8,  632,  659, 

663,  677 
Lowell  Institute,  Boston,  U.S.A., 

467 

Lectures,  467 

Lowe,  Robert,  268,  272 

Lowthers,  the,  159 

Lucca,  265  v.,  522  v. 

Lucerne,  577  v.d. 

Lucifer  and  the  Kaiser,  678 

Ludlow  specimens,  145 

Luther,   examination    paper    on, 

127 
Lydgate,  John — 
"  The  Flower  and  the  Leaf," 

296 
Lyell,  Sir  Charles,  116 

"  Antiquity  of  Man,"  146 
Lyn,  the,  386  v.d. 
Lynton,  385-8  v.d.,  528  v. 
Lyons,  264-5  v.d. 


708 


INDEX 


Lytton,  Bulwer — 
"  Rienzi,"  30 
"  Paul  Clifford,' 


30 


Maoaulay,  105,  124,  670 

"  Olive,"  545 

"  Warren  Hastings,"  545 

"Pitt,"  545 
MoClintock,  Sir  Leopold,  50 
McClure— 

"  N.W.  Passage,"  77 
McGee,  the  bookseller,  89 
Maclvor — 

'<  Pamphlet  of  National  Board," 
78 
Mackail — 

"  Life  of  Morris,"  515 
Maclagan,  242 
Macmillan,  Messrs,  286,  363,  381, 

597 
McSwynes'  Gun,  341  v.d. 
Madeleine,  la,  Paris,  256  v.d. 
Magee,  Dr,  Archbishop  of  York, 

182 
Mahaffy,  Dr,  43-5 
Mahon's  "  History,"  158 
Maine — 

"Ancient  Law,"  166 
Mallockians,  398 
Malory — 

*'  Morte  d' Arthur,"  545 
Malvern,  37  v.,  509  v.d. 
Manchester,  383,  407,  531-3  v.d. 

Stopfords  of,  7 

College,  Oxford,  464-5,  573, 

582,  602-3 

. Square,  201-1,  214,  237,  357- 

8, 412-13, 416-18, 442, 459, 474, 
482,  557,  620,  645,  649,  672 
Manners,  Lady,  216 

,  Lord  John,  215-16,  218 

"  Manon  Lescaut,"  270 
Mansford  Street,  Bethnal  Green, 

497  V. 
Mantua,  519 

"Margaret  Oatchpole,"  78 
Mariners'  Church,  15,  17,  19,  44, 

49-50,  101,  129,  477 
Mario,  Guiseppe,  93 
Marriage,  advice  on,  123-4 
Martineau,   James,    78,    86,    115, 
320,  824,  451-2,  454,  480,  602 

"  Endeavours  after  the  Christian 
Life,"  119 
Marwick,  Sir  James,  535 


Marx,  Karl,  319 

Marylebone,  114 

Mary,  Queen  of  Scots,  267 

Mary  Tudor,  4 

MassiUon,  Jean  Baptiste,  45 

Master  of  the  Rolls,  447 

Materialism,  scientific,  193-4,  205 

Materialists ,  398 

Matthews,  C.  E.— 

"  History  of  Mont  Blanc,"  27 
Maurice,  P.  D.,  127, 164,  176,  185, 

194-5,  199-201,  211,  241,  417, 

596 
'♦Conflict  of  Good  and  Evil," 

142 
Mayer,  Dr,  159 
Mazzini,  640 

"  Duties  of  Man,"  408 
Meath,  Bishop  of,  32 
Meath  Co.,  15,  25,  233,  239 
Mellish,  Mr  Justice,  288 
"  Memories  of  a  Detective,"'  77 
Memory,  140,  594-5 
Menaggio,  399  v. 
Menander,  672-3 
Men     and      Women's      College, 

Queen's  Square,  367-8 
Mental  characteristics,  9,  11,  13, 

42,  54-5,  86-90,  96,  197-8 
double  nature,  8,  9, 14,  31,  55-6, 

94-5,  109,  332,  358,  865,  449- 

50,  482,  510,  550,  665-6,  637 
love  of  home,  28,  35,  95,   110, 

170,  413 
love  of  order,  40,  70, 140 
methods,  39-40,  80,  128,  140-1, 

212,    228,   264,   270,    311-12, 

356-7,  362,  378,  423-5,  447- 

51 
moods,  7,  30,  77,  154-5,  159-60, 

269-71,   292-3,  296-800,  303, 

305,  365,  382-5,  388,  406,  428, 

449,  490,  662 
Mephistopheles,  182 
Mercer,  R.A.,  Captain,  477 
Meredith,  George,  613,  635 

,  Owen,  93 

M^ryon,  414 

Mesmerism,  83 

Message,  his,  55,  447-8,  495,  499- 

500,  682 
See  also  Love 
"  Metropolis,"  601 
Meyriok,  Mrs,  573 
Middlesbrough,  497  v. 


INDEX 


709 


Midland  Institute,  Birmingham, 

396 
Milford  Haven,  150  v.,  233  v. 
Military  genius,  wanted  a,  645-6 
Millais,  238 

"  The  Boyhood  of  Ealeigh,"  24 
Mill  Hill  Chapol,  Leeds,  531 
Mill,  John  Stuart,  116,  219 

"  Bepresentative  Government," 
116 

"  Comte  and  Positivism,"  142 

"  Political  Economy,"  163,  181 
Milton,  102,  305,  403-4,  611 

"  Prose  Works,"  141 

"Time,"  617 

"  Arcades,"  617 

"  Comus,"  617 
Miraculous  incarnation,  155 

,  the,  325-7 

Missionaries,  132-3 

Missions  to  Africans,  605 

Modernism,  601 

"  Moloch  "  fathers,  524-5 

Monaghan,  5 

Monarchy,  146 

Monastereven,  20 

Monkstown,  83  v. 

Mont  Blanc,  622 

Monte  Generoso,  440  v.d. 

Moralising  tendency  weak,  453-4 

Moreau,    "Sortie     de     I'Opera," 

289 
Morier,  Sir  Eobert,  152, 159, 162-3, 

242 
Morley,  Mr  John — 

"  Life  of  Gladstone,"  615 

"  Men  of  Letters,"  306 
Morris,  William,  54,  317,  414,  418, 
469-70,  515,  579, 597,  605,  613, 
644 

"Earthly  Paradise,"  545 
Mortigny,  109  v. 
Mosheim,  678 
Mote  Netherby,  4 
Motherhood,  609 
Motley,  248,  312 
Mozart,  384 
Mozley,  267 
Muirhead,  John,  359 
Mullagh,  3 
MuUion  Covo,  613  v. 
Munitions,  568 
Murillo,  30 

Murray,  Lady  Mary  {n6e  Howard), 
402-3,  419-21 


Murray,  Professor  Gilbert,  402 
,   "The    Rise   of    the  Greek 

Epic/'  647 
Music,  66,  93,  342,  384,  503,  603, 

621 
Musset,  Alfred  de,  113 
Mysticism,  1,  65-6    111-12,  121, 

137-40,   204,    269,   281,    382, 

452,  489-90,  548,  564-5,  606, 

608,  624,  637,  651 
visions,  8-9,  120-2,  550-2,  556 
Myths,    122,    317,    333,     335-40, 

344-5, 422,  484-5, 550,  555-66, 

587,  609 

"Nannie,"  18,  34-6 

Nantwich,  Brooke  estates  at,  2 

Napier,  Lady,  168-9 

,  Lord,  166,  174 

Naples,  430,  519 

Napoleon  Bonaparte,  70,  207 

,  Louis,  244 

Napoleonic  ideas,  253,  273 

National  Gallery,  81,  237 

Review,  136 

Nature,  88-9,  122-3,  393,  626-7, 
657,  688 
love  of,  87,  91,  104,  181,  238-9, 
364,  439,  473,  516,  603-4,  617, 
637,  648 
communion  with,    450-1,  482, 
491,  647,  549,  552,  658,  573, 
581, 586-7,  591-2, 699, 627, 666 
running  water,   2,  6,  29,  36-7, 
103,   278,  439,  443,  465,  473, 
511-12,  519,  547,  551-3 
and  spirit,  205-7,  454,  486,  565 
descriptions  of,  6,  37-8,  187, 229, 
232,  240-1,  258,  260-1,  271-2, 
296,  301-2,  333-4,  346-8,  361, 
379-81,  385-6,  387,  411,  426, 
429-30,  440,  442-3,  445,  466, 
491,  501,  506-9,  511-12,  513, 
520-3,  528,  581,  670-1,  575-7, 
606-7,  613,  016-17,  022,  627, 
631,  644,  660,  068-'J,  673,  676, 
683-6 

Navy  scare,  611,  646 

Naworth  Castle,  249-50,  260-3, 
263-71,  292,  306, 312,  335, 338, 
341-5,  348,  382,  424-5 

Neander,  78 

Needle-gun,  Prussian,  154,  165 

Neligan,  164 

Netherby,  4,  9 


710 


INDEX 


Newcastle-on-Tyne,  497  v. 
Newcome,  Colonel,  477 
New  Gallery,  Regent  Street,  474 
Newhall  Hill,  Birmingham,  497  v. 
Newman,  569 

"  Apologia,"  568-9 
''■  New  Republic,"  299 
"  New  Testament,"  105 
"Newton,"  71 
New  Zealand,  477 
Niebuhr,  "Letters,"  78 
Nightingale,  Florence,  62-3 
Nonconformists,  54,   118,   121-2, 

272,  319-20,  409-10,  515,  541, 

611,  646 
Nonconformity,  254,  356,  495,  595 
Norman  Conquest,  Saxon  ancestor 

at,  7 
Northampton,  497  v. 
North-east  Coast,  333  v. 
North's  translation  of  "  Plutarch's 

Lives,"  570 
Northumberland,  233  v. 
Northumbria  in  eighth  century, 

376 
North  Wales,  146 
Norton,  Mrs,  "  Lost  and  Saved," 

147 
Norwich,  497  v.,  534  v. 
Note-books,  140-3,  161 
Notre  Dame,  255  v. 
Nottingham,  497  v.,  534  v. 
Novel  reading,  23-4,  30,  47-8 

"  0,"  77-8,  81-2,  117,  124-5 
Oakfield  Road  Chapel,  CUfton,  388 
O'Brien,  Mr  Barry,  431,  515 

"  Life  of  Parnell,"  539 
Observer,  618 

O'Oonnell  demonstrations,  17 
Old  age,  21,  682-3,  632,  667,  677-8 
Oldham,  497-8  v. 
'•  Old  Kensington,"  269 
Olshausen,  "  St  John,"  82 
O'Neal,  rebellion  of  Sir  Phelim,  2 
Opium,  effect  of,  605 
Ordination,  74,  76,  81,  84 
O'Reilly,  Mrs,  20 
Ormond,  Earl  of,  5 
Ouchy,  108  v.,  278  v. 
Owen,  Robert,  116,  131-2 
Oxford,  145,  318  v.,  498  v.,  507, 
642  v.,  645  v.,  682  v. 

Jowett's  influence  in,  163 

Pfleiderer  on,  378 


Oxford — 
philosophers,  603-9 
Stanley  on  leaving,  223 

,  Bishop  of,  213 

Street,  443,  520 


Padiham,  497  V. 

Pain,  97,  111,  210,  408-9 

related  to  pleasure,  234 
Palais  de  Justice,  Paris,  255  v, 
Palestine,  294,  602,  649 
Palgrave,  Francis,  400 

"  Golden  Treasury,"  545 

"  Landscape  in  Poetry,"  647 
Palgrave,  Gifford,  152 
Pallanza,  575-6  v,  ^ 

Pall  Mall,  432 
Palmerston,  Lady,  93,  106-7 

,  Lord,  80,  83,  106,  125,  189 

Papists,  135-6 
Paris,  602  v. 

in  1871..  255-6  v.<i. 
Parkman  on  the  early  Stations  in 

America,  571 
Parliament,    241,    607,   615,   640, 

641-2,  645-7,  669 
Parnell,  Charles  Stewart,  515-16, 

539 
Pastoral  work,  91-2,  94,  132,  357 
Pater,  Walter — 

"  Marius  the  Epicurean,"  670-1 
Peacock,  Thomas  Love,  507 
Pelagius,  593 
Penrith,  572 
Pentateuch,  162 
Pentlands,  267  v. 
People's  Magazine,  223,  227 
Percival,  Bishop  of  Hereford,  602 
Percy — 

"  Metallurgy,"  142 
Perry,  Angel  (Dr  Richard  Brooke's 

mother),  45 
Perugia,  295,  545  v. 
Peterborough  Cathedral,  212 
Pfleiderer,  Professor,  378 
Phaethon,  78 
"  Mr  P.,"  673 
Phillimore,  R.  J.,  Dean  of  Arches, 

322—3 
Philosophy,  40-1,  60,  112,  139, 
309,  452,  603,  608-9,  611,  625 
Physical  characteristics,  9, 11, 16- 
18,  23,  26,  42,  49-52,  91,  94, 
354,  476,  480,  637-8 


INDEX 


711 


Physical  suffering,  332,  350,  354-5, 
361,  371,  380,  388,  400,  441, 
444,  457,  459-62,  465,  496-7, 
502,  614,  645,  674 

Piccadilly,  92,  94,  96,  104,  111, 
176,  185 

Pigou — 
"  Sermons,"  142 

Pillischer's,  503 

Pisa,  520-2  v.d.,  460  v. 

Pit,  the  souls  in  the,  517 

Pitch  Hill,  088 

Pitt,  the  younger,  610 

Plato,  71,  486,  673 

"Myth    of    the    Soul    in     the 
Phaedrua,"  609 

Piatt,  497  V. 

Pleiades  at  play,  the,  662 

Plumptre,  Dean,  435 

Plunkett,  Horace,  642 

Plymouth,  497  v. 

Poerio,  Italian  exile,  127 

Poetry,  31,  74,  87,  136,  247,  407, 
452-3,  455,  478,  483,  516, 
630-7,  647 

Political  economy,  33,  120 

Politics,  80,  83,  125,  165,  189, 
268-9, 272, 302-3,  369-71, 376- 
377, 378-9, 389-91,  430-1, 441, 
464,  505,  006,  615,  618,  625, 
636,  63a-42,  645-6,  654 

Polyeratos,  251 

Ponte  Vecchio,  385 

Pontypridd,  497  v. 

Poor,  sympathy  with,  12.  61-2, 
153,  236-7,  280,  319,  364,  395, 
450,  464,  517,  580,  657 

Portarlington,  20 

Portman  Square,  92 

Portsmouth,  497  v.,  502-3 

Positivists,  398 

Potsdam,  246 

Potts,  Mr  R.  A.,  357-8,  503-4, 
600 

Pounds,  John,  502-3 

Poverty,  struggle  with.  16-17,  19, 
41,  57,  74,  91 

PoweU,  Professor  Baden,  108, 
134-5 

Pragmatism,  603 

Prayer,  69,  83,  85,  367,  500,  676 
recourse  to,  19,  84,  128,  151,  489 
public,  595,611,663 

Praver,  Book  of  Common,  44,  105, 
'lis,  120,  160,  322-3,  355,  646 

VOL.   II. 


Prayer-meetings  banned,  19 
Prayers  written  for  his  children, 

190-1 
Preaching,  54,  117-18,  132,  141, 

143,  166,  172,  174-5,  179,  196, 
247,  284,  287  92,  296-8,  356- 
357,  365, 380,  431,  446-51,  453, 
455,  457-9,  462-3,  465,  481-3, 
485-500,  530-4,  569,  613,  617, 
632 

in  the  Irish  Church,  44-6 
women,  126,  251 
Precious  stones,  279-80,  540 
Pre-Raphaelite    movement,    299, 

418 
Presbyterian  Church  (1st),  Belfast, 

497 
Presbyterians,  44,  48,  105,  328 
Preston,  497  v. 
Principles,  eternal,  90 
Prophecies,  political,  244,  272-3 
Protestant  Church,  of  Prance,  222 
Protestants,    135-6,    241-2,    246, 

544 
Prothero,  G.,  670 
Providence  of  God,  189,  408,  486 
Prussia,  241 
attitude  to  England,  146-7,  154, 

163-6,  246,  644-5 
Church  of,  152 
hegemony  of,  242-3,  273 
sympathy   with,   244-7,   253-4, 

268,  273,  652,  655 
,  Augusta  Empress  of,  152, 

157,  168,  170,  264    ' 
,    Grown    Princess    of,    144, 

152,   154,    162,    167-70,    173, 

178-9,     196,     213-20,    244-7, 

554,  273,  444 
,  Frederic  Crown  Prince  of, 

144,  152,  167-9,218-19,243-6, 
253-4,  273 

,  William  I,  Emperor  of,  165, 

168-9,  244,  253-4,  273 
Prussianism,  673 
Psalms,  609-10 

XXIII,  215,  611,  665-0 
Psychic  phenomena,  574-5,  605 
Puritans,  44 


Quekn's  Co.,  5 

Queen's   College,  Harley  Street, 
lectureship,  94,  223-4,  227 
resignation,  264 

2  A 


712 


INDEX 


"  Eab  and  his  friends,"  266 

Racomber,  5 

Radicalism,  219,  251 

Radicals,  272 

Raffaelle,  347,  519 
"  Stanze,"  295 

Ragged  School  movement,  603 

Ramsay,  Dean,  264 

Rangariri,  477 

Ranke,  Professor,  152,  160 

Raphael,  142 

Ravenscar,  644  v.d. 

Rawlinson,  649 

Read,  Miss,  407-8 

Reading,  77,  101,  123,  127,  137, 
142-3,  158-9,  224,  871,  380, 
386,  450,  501,  518,  523-4, 
527-8,  544-5,  605-6,  667-8, 
675 

Record,  195 

"  Recordites,"  223 

Recreations,  33,  50-53,  66,  82, 
142,  181,  226-241,  271-2,  333, 
341-2,  422-3,  607,  631-2 

Redemption,  309 

"Red  Morn,"  603 

Reform  Bill,  242 

Regillus,  Lake,  347  v. 

Reid,  Stuart,  626,  649-50 

"  Sarah      Duchess      of     Marl- 
borough," 626 

Reincarnation,  belief  of,  1,  56, 
382,  472,  511,  515 

Renaissance,  the,  547,  548 

Renan,  225 

"  Life  of  Jesus,"  159 

Renshaw  Street,  Liverpool,  497  v. 

Reprisals — 

"  German  manners,"  670 

Resurrection,  the,  183,  225-6, 
326-7 

Reuss,  the,  278  v.  d. 

Revelation — 

nature  of,  247-8,  309 
necessity  of,  314 

Reverence,  182,  204,  224-6,  279, 
421 

Reynolds,  Sir  Joshua,  92,  347,  573 

Rhone,  the,  301  v. 
Valley  of  the,  109 

Rhys,  Mr  Ernest,  192 

Richardson,  Sir  B.  W.,  358 

Richmond,  U.S.A.,  capture  of,  183 

,   Yorkshire,   345  v.,   497  v., 

534  V. 


Riviera,  the,  460  v. 
Ripon,  Bishop  of,  288 
Ristori,  the  actor,  53,  93 
Ritual,  630 

Ritualists,  193,  217-18,  260 
Robertson,  F.  W.,  29,  54,  58,  77, 
79,  128,  129-30,  133-34,  163, 
164,  169,  192,  225,  514,  532, 
678 

family,  685 

friendship  with,  25,  62,  192 
Robespierre,  70 
Robson,  the  comedian,  62-3 
Rochdale,  497-8  v. 
Rockfield,  77  v. 
"  Rock  of  Ages,"  222 
Rodin,  opinion  of,  567 
Rogers'  life  and  letters,  402 
RoUand,  Romain,  686 

"  Above  the  Battle,"  673 
RoUeston,  Mrs  T.  W.  (Miss  Maud 
Brooke,  daughter),  152, 334-5, 
384,  425,  434,  437,  510,  531-2, 
631,  6G2,  674 

See  also  Letters 
Roman  Catholics,  241-2,  601 
Romans,  the,  294,  519,  554,  670 
Roman  Wall,  the,  250  v. 
Rome,  164,  287 v. ,  292-7  v.,  346-7  v., 
519,  545-6,  570 

,  Newman's  progress  to,  569 

Rosa  Bonheurs,  93 

Ross,  540  V. 

Rossetti,  D.  G.,  470,  573,  644 

"  Atalanta,"  671 

"  Hours  of  Idleness,"  671 

"Marriage  Song,"  363 
Rossetti,  Miss — 

"  Religious  Poems,"  534 
Rosslyn  Hill  Chapel,  Hampstead, 

582,  604 
Rothay,  the,  465,  644  d.,  674  v. 
Rothenstein,   Mr   and    Mrs,  419, 
474,  624-5 

See  also  Letters 
Rothwells  of  Rothfield,  the,  51 
Royal  Institution,  108 
Runswick,  236  v. 
Ruskin,  89,  103,  207-9,  313,  317 

"Modern    Painters,"    82.    130, 
208,  299,  545 

on  Tintoret,  231 

"Notes  on  Turner,"  81 

"Unto  this  Last,"  545 
Russell,  Lord,  125,  144,  189 


INDEX 


713 


Russia,  146,  303,  671,  682 
Riitli  meadow,  the,  1 

Saalburg,  554  v. 
Sabbatarianism,  435 
Sabbath,  73,  83,  179 
Sale,  497  v. 
Salerno,  519 
Salisbury  Crags,  2G7  v. 

,  Lord,  daughter  of,  213 

Sand,  George — 

"  L'Homme  de  Neige,"  130 

"  Histoire  de  ma  Vie,"  527 
Sanderson,  Cobden,  682 

"  Amantium  Irse,"  627-8 

"  The  Gedichte,"  682 

"  The  Prelude,"  682 

"Xenien,"  682 

See  also  Letters 
Sandy  Cove,  26  v. 
San  Remo,  444  v.,  460  v.,  519  v. 

"  Possessions  "  at,  420 
San  Rocco,  Schuola  di,  230 
Santa  Maria  Novella,  350  c. 
Sargeant,  "  Robert  Owen  and  his 

Social  Philosophy,"  130 
Satan,  Milton's,  403-4 
Savile  Row,  106 
Savonarola,  467 
Saxon  words,  use  of,  128 
Scaleby  Castle,  261  v. 
Scarborough,  497  v. 
Scarlett,  Ruth,  506 
Schiavoni,  Riva  dei,  232 
Schiller,  136,  504,  609 

"^Esthetic  Education,"  78 

"Espousals,"  82 

"  Wilhelm  Tell,"  504 
"  Schism,"  120 
Schleswig,  164-5 
Schonhausen  party,  the,  166 
School  days,  25-8,  30-8 
Schoolfellows,  27,  30,  36,  38 
Schopenhauer, 

"  Love,"  614 
Science  studies,  40,  108,  114,  116, 
118,  120,  126,  130,  132,  136, 
140-2,  145-7,  159,  170-1,  182, 
186,  233,  454,  508,  564,  601, 
625,  653 
Scotch  Highlands,  333 
Scotland,  73,  101-2,  241,  464 
Scott,  Hope,  266 

,  Sir  Walter,  23,  48,  73,  250, 

265-6,  413,  588,  644 


Scott,  Sir  Walter— 
"  Diary,"  568,  618 
on  the  Grahams,  5 
"  Guy  Mannering,"  613 
"The    Heart    of    Midlothian," 

578 
"  Lady  of  the  Lake,"  22 
"  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel,"  22 
"  Marmion,"  22 
"  Woodstock,"  578 

Argyle,  the,  231 

Duncan  Knock  Dunder,  231 

Reuben  Butler,  231 
"  Scots  wha  hae,"  85 
Scrope,  159 
Sedan, 272 
Selbourne,  Lord — 
"Life,"  524 
"  Book  of  Praise,"  524 
Self-surrender,  11,  -.^9,  427,  447  -8, 

456-7,  481 
Senior,  Miss, 

,  Mr,  132,  161 

"  Biographical   Sketches,"  146, 

147 
Sermons,  general,  55,  94, 106, 116, 

121,   128-9,  173-4,  180,   183, 

189-90,  212,  214-15,   217-18, 

221-4,  229,  251-2,  2o4.   267, 

280,  304,  309-10,  318,  324-5, 

357,  360,  363,  383,  390,  396, 

450-1,  473,  517,  527,  542,  593, 

604,  640 
Abraham,  Call  of,  117 
Christ,  Asides  of,  605 

,  Baptism  of,  220 

British  and  Foreign  Unitarian 

Association,  for  the,  496-500 
Christ,   Put    ye    on    the   Lord 

Jesus,  105 

and  Modern  Life,  54 

,  the  Development  of,  203-7, 

248,  565 
Criticism  of  his  own  sermons, 

262-3 
Elijah  on  Horeb,  448-9 
Faithfulness  of  God,  290 
Father's   Church,  preached    in 

his,  101-2 
God  and  Christ,  459 
Home  Rule.  431 
Individuality,  220 
Jesus,  The  Early  Life  of,  205, 

448 
Joy,  The  Gospel  of,  478 


714 


INDEX 


Sermons — 
Life,  The  Superlative,  478 
Love,  The  Kingdom  of,  478 
"  Melancolia,"   Albert   Diirer's, 

54,  288 
Miraculous  Draught  of  Fishes, 

93 
Moses,  the  Death  of,  448-9 
New  Year  Sermon,  290-1 
Old  Testament  and  Modern  Life, 

448-9,  459,  478 
Onward  Cry,  478 
Ordination,  127 

(first  after),  88-90,  454 

Short  Sermons,  459 

Spiritual  beauty  added  to  moral 

usefulness,  484 
Temptation,  action   of  God  in, 

267 
Serpentine,  night  on  the,  598-9 
Service,  the  Canadian  poet,  615 
Severn,  the,  27,  38 
S.  Giovanni  e  Paulo,  294 
Shakespeare,  66,  71,  231,  361,  364, 

396,  442,  448,  479,  504,  601, 

679 
"Hamlet,"  53,  236,439,612 
Seven  Ages  of  Man,  428 
"  Sonnets,"  78 

Ariel,  411 

Audrey,  559 

Caliban,  519 

Celia,  575 

Constance,  439 

Coriolanus,  615 

Hamlet,  506 

Imogen,  439 

Isabella,  439 

Lear,  416,  439,  579 

Malvolio,  577 

Maria,  577 

Oberon,  526 

Olivia,  577 

Orlando,  575 

Othello,  439 

Rosalind,  559,  575 

Sir  Toby  Belch,  577 

Timon,  666 

Titania,  411,  523 

Touchstone,  559, 679 

Viola,  577 
Shaw,  Mr  G.  B.,  359,  380-1,  596, 

600 
"  Quintessence  of  Ibsen,"  598 
"  Man  and  Superman,"  599 


Shaw,  Ann,  599 
Sheffield,  497  v. 

Shelley,  23,  87,  138,  205,  208,  305, 
364,  379,  505-7,  521-2,  545, 
550,  508,  636,  644 

MS.,  671,  686 

"  Prometheus  Unbound,"  98 
Demeter,  622 
Prometheus,  622 
Zeus,  622 

Harriet,  506-7 

,  Lady,  505-7 

,  Sir  Percy,  505 

Shere,  Surrey,  364,  369,  385 1;.,  388- 

9  v.,  434  v.,  685  v.,  670 
Sheridan,  2 

"  The  Critic,"  671 
Puff,  671 

Sir  F.  Plagiary,  671 
Sneer,  671 

,  Miss,  2 

Shorter,  Clement,  403-4 
Shotover  Hill,  186  v. 
Sicily,  519 

Sidgwick,  Professor,  602 
Siena,  294-5 
Silverhow,  511,  529 
Simcox,  George, 

"  Thucydides,"  27 
Sin,  original,  309,  312,  314 
Sinclair,  Archdeacon,  115-16, 119, 

145 
Sistine  Chapel,  295 
Sitwells,  the,  106,  183 
Slade  Students,  418 
Slave  trade,  American,  166-7 
Sligo,  233  v.,  239  v. 
Smiles,  Samuel,  143 

"Self-Help,"  288 
Smith,  Reginald  J.,  K.C.,  685 

,  Sidney,  402 

Smoking,  42, 75,  77-8,  82, 108, 131, 

227,  358,  362,  415,  418 
Snowdon,  108,  605 
Social   life,  48,  51-2,  82-3,   92-3, 

106-7,  154-5,   160,  250-1,   292, 

548,  567,  667.     See  also  Talks. 
Socialism,  319,  359-60,  432,  451 
Socialists,  532,  641 
Social  Reform,  116,  648 
Society  anti-Christian,  657 
Socrates,  486 
Soldiers'  wives,  126 
Solway,  250  v. 
Sophocles,  "  Philoctetes,"  694 


I 


INDEX 


715 


Southampton,  497  v. 
South  Downs,  684 
South  Wales,  540  v. 
Southey,  506 

"  Kehama,"  304 

"  Roderick,"  304 

"  Thalaba,"  304 
Southport,  497  v . 
Spagnoletto,  30 
Spectator,  640 
Spencer,  Dr,  83,  103,  106 
Spencerians,  398 
Spenser,  102 

Spiritualism,  121,132.  See  Ghosts. 
Stacpoole,  Dr,  25 
Stalybridge,  497  v. 
Stanley,  Dean,  79, 93, 105, 109, 127, 
158,   160,   162-4,  173,   175-6, 
179,  182,  184-5,  194-6,  199- 
201,  211,  215.  219,  221-3,  226, 
251-2,  254,  262,  315,  324,  637 

"  Lectures      on     the      Jewish 
Church,"  146 

Sinai  and  Palestine,  82 

,  Lady  Augusta,  185,  222,  268 

,  Mrs,  508 

of  Alderley,  Lady,  417 

Stanleys,  the,  292 
Star,  432 
Stephen,  Leslie, 

"  Essays,"  598 

on  Kingsloy,  597 

"  The  Letters  of  J.  11.  Green," 
265 
Stephen's  Green,  484  v. 
Sterling,  John.  54,  60,  73 
Stevenson,  R.  L.,  524 
St  George's,  Hanover  Square,  175, 

212,  395 
St  James'   Chapel,  York  Street, 

176-7,    192,   210-15,   227,    247, 

250-2,  262,  284, 2S7-9, 292,  309- 

10,  329,  359,  422 

Park,  600 

Piccadilly,  80,  104,  111,  176, 

267 
St  John,  90, 203 
St  John's,  Kidderminster,  34 

,  Edinburgh,  267 

St  Margaret's,  Westminster,  291 
St  Mark's,  Venice,  230 
St  Martin's-in-the-Fields,  175 
St  Mary  Abbots,  Kensington,  115- 

16,  118,  140,  143,  164,  172 
St  Matthew's,  Bethual  Green,  180 


St  Matthew's,  Slaryleboue,  83,  86, 

88 
St  Maurice,  Switzerland,  301 
St  Paul,  121,  132,  164,  203,  296, 

595 
St  Paul's,  Covent  Garden,  175, 179 
St  Stephen's,  372 
St  Thomas'  Church,  Dublin,  4 
Stockport,  497  v. 

,  Baron  de,  7 

"  Stockport  "  (orig.  of  Stopford),  7 
Stopford,  Dr,  6 

family,  the,  7-8,  32 

,    James.     {See     Bishop     of 

Cloyne,  7,  8) 
,  Mrs  Joseph  (grandmother), 

31-2,  41-2,  161, 173,  179-80 

,  Rev.  Joseph,  1,  5,  7,  15 

Storm  of  1839.. .18 
Stourbridge,  497  v. 
Stour,  the,  33 
Stratford-on-Avon,  439  v. 
Strauss,  185,  225 

"  Leben  Jesu,"  142 
Stubbs,  Bishop,  602-3 

"  Constitutional  History,"  375-6 
Student  Society,  82 
Sub-consciousness,  608,  613 
Subscription,  ethics  of,  260,  317, 

319,  351-353 
Surrey,  474,  588,  629,  631,  648 
Sussex  South  Downs,  637 
Swansea,  497  v. 
Sweden,  659 
Swedenborg,  121 
Swilly,  by  the,  392 
Swinburne's     might  -  have  -  been, 

612-13 
Swift,  Dean,  3,  8 
Swindon,  Oolite  sections,  145 
Switzerland,   104,   108,   142,   144 

155,  208,  226,  233,  271,  301,  457, 

510,  602,  628,  645 
Sympathy,  29,  95,  148-51,  214, 
234,  259,  279-80,  308,  391-2, 
404-5,  465,  543-4,  622  3,  633, 
638-9,  649,  656-7,  659-60, 
680,  685 

need   of,   29,   110,    384,   421-2, 
473 
Synges,  the,  51 


Tauema,  AiiMA,  612,  025 
Tagore,  Rabindranath,  686,  671 


716 


INDEX 


Tagore  Rabindranath — 

'«Gitaniali,"624,  671 

"  Sadhana,"  586 
Tait,  Bishop,  80-1 
Talks,  237,  358,  415-6,  505,  520, 

573,  602,  635,  653-4,  670 
Tammany  Hall,  539 
TariS  Reform,  646 
Tate  Gallery,  351 
Taunton,  497  v. 
Taylor  Institute,  Oxford,  573  v. 

,  Rev.  I.,  180 

Telegraph,  184 
Temptation,  456 

Tennyson,  87,  136,  138,  317,  417, 
538,  545 

"  Charge  of  the  Light  Brigade," 
85 

"In  Memoriam,"  65-6,  74,  77, 
78,  85,  114,  134,  227 

"Life,"  529-30,  531 

"Love  and  Duty,"  77 

"  Maud,"  82,  92-3,  188 

,  Hallam,  529,  531 

Terence,  Plays  of,  668 

"  Andria,"  672 

Eunuchus,  673 

Pamphilus,  672 

Phormio,  670 
Terry,  Ellen,  reminiscences,  606 
Testimonium  Divinitatis,  39 
Theology,    88,   248,   310-15,   400, 
402,  410-12,  500,  625 

German,  93,  153-4 

Review  of  liberal,  224 
Thiergarten,  Berlin,  the,  158 
Thinker,  the,  538 
Thirty-Nine    Articles,    119,    260, 
310 

Burnet  on  the,  67,  74,  77 
Three  Rock  Mountain,  516  v. 
Times,  The,  184,  372,  398,  671 
Tintagel,  400-1  v.,  483  v.,  561 
Titian,  347 

"Ariosto,"  578 

"Doge  Grimani    presented    to 
the  Virgin,"  231 
Tintoretto  (Tintoret),  81,  230,  414 

"  Paradise,"  231 

"  The  Last  Supper,"  448 
Tocqueville — 

"  L'Ancien  Regime,"  158 
Todmorden,  497  v. 
Togo,  Admiral,  defeat  of  Russians, 

568 


Tombs,  on,  129-30 

Tories,   213,   272,   371,   379,   520, 

568 
Torquay, 497  v. 
Total   abstinence,   124,  127,   216, 

358-9,  377-8,  389,  394 
Tractarianism,  131 
Trelawny,  Edward  John,  507 
Trench  family,  the,  25 
Trevelyan,  Lady,  602  " 

,  Sir  Charles,  602 

,  Sir  George,  568 

Trimpley  Church,  37 
Trinity  Chapel,  Brighton,  532 

Church,  Glasgow,  320 

College,  Dublin,  1,  3,  4,  39, 

43,61 
TroUope,  Thomas — 
"  Early  and  Mediaeval  Antiqui- 
ties of  Rome,"  142 
"  History  of  the  Commonwealth 
of  Florence,"  142 
Trossaohs,  the,  73  v. 
Tunbridge  Wells,  102  v. 
Turkey,  303 
Turks,  the,  302 

Turner,  50,  56,  82, 104, 116, 187-8, 
208,  212,  229,  231,  317,  351, 
473,  573,  649 
"  Dido  Building  Carthage,"  81 
Gallery,  110 
Liber  Shidiorwn,  22, 355,  388-9, 

414 
"The     Drowned     Sailor,"    50, 

186-7 
"  Sun  rising  in  a  fog,"  81 
Tweed,  the,  265  v. 
Tyndall,  Professor,  116 
"  Glaciers,"  130 
"  Heat,"  158 
Tyrrel,   Father,   moral   influence 
of,  620 

Unionists,  464 

Unitarians,  119,  223,  260,  319-20, 
I  328-9,  361,  409-10.  435,  454, 

459,    493-7.    503,     511,    530, 

532-4,  604 
United  States,  648,  670,  672,  679 
University  Church,  Oxford,  318 

College,  lectures  in,  478 

Upper  Easedale  valley,  512  v, 
Urbino,  519 

Valbntia,  Lady,  38 


INDEX 


717 


Vallery  crown,  the,  5 

Vecohio,  Palma — 
"Ariosto,"  578 

Venice,  164,  197,  226,  230-3  v., 
2&6,  263,  295,  379-80  v.d., 
427-8  u,  431-2  t'.,  433,  442- 
3  v.,  458, 460  v.,  462  v.,  502  d., 
519-22  V. 

"  Venturer,  The,"  662 

Verdun,  663-4,  673 

Vergil,  27,  519 
"^neas,"  404 

Verueys,  the,  002 

Vernon  Gallery,  81 

Smiths,  the,  106 

Verona,  460  v.,  462  v.,  522  v. 

Veronese,  230,  232 

"  Vicarious  Suffering,"  77 

Vesuvius,  430 

Viareggio,  521  v.d.,  550  W. 

Victoria,  H.M.  Queen,  48,  125, 
144,  170,  174,  178-9,  189-90, 
214-18,  2J0-1,  264,  272,  309, 
520,  610 

Vienna,  166 

Villari,  Linda,  466 

,  Pasquale — 

"Lectures  on  the    History  of 

Florence,"  466 
"Life  of  Savonarola,"  466 

Visions.     See  Mysticism 

Vocation,  choice  of,  57-64,  75-6 

"  Vows,"  74-5,  78,  83-4 

Voysey,  331 


Wage,  242 

Wales,  241,  271,  333,  464 
Wallas,  Graham,  359 
War,  63-4,  653^,  656,  658,  661, 
663,  680 
American  Civil,  167,  183-4 
Crimean,  62-3,  126 
Danish,  154,  165 
European,    63,    631,  638,   669, 
673,679-80,682 
Brooke's  attitude  to,  651-64, 
669 
Franco-Prussian,  244-7 
Maori,  12,  477 
Parliamentarv—  Stopford  motto 

in,  8 
Peninsular,  240 
Rumours,  377,  432 
South  African,  638-9 


Ward,  ^Irs  Humphry — 

"  David  Grieve,"  406-7 
Dora,  407 

"Robert  Elsmere,"  397-8,  620 

See  also  Letters 
Warren,  Miss  K.,  408-9,  519-20 
Warrington,  497  v. 
Watts,  G.  F.,  93,  573-4 
Wavland,  Dr,  119 
Weald,  the,  031,  648,  658,  684 
Webb,  Sidney,  359 
Webster,  John,  602 
Wedmore,  Sir  Frederick — 

"  Memories,"  288-9,  416-19 
Weisshorn,  594,  651  d. 
Welcombe  Park,  439  v.d. 
Welland,  Mr?,  18,  34-6 

,   Mrs   C.   B.    (Miss    Verona 

Brooke,daughter),444, 505,607 

See  also  Letters 

,  Rev.  C,  Rector  of  Alderlev, 

607 

,  Rev.   T.,  Bishop  of  Down 

and  Connor,  321 
Wellesley,  Dean  of  Windsor,  178, 
190,  215-16,  250 

,  Mrs,  216-17 

Wellington's  funeral  car,  80 
WeUs,  435  v. 
Wells,  H.  G.— 

'•The   Research    Magnificent," 
666 

"  War  in  the  Air,"  653 
Wenlock,  geological  series,  145 
Wensleydale,  345  v. 
West,  B.,  216 

Westbourne  Terrace,  104,  109 
Westmeath  canoe,  170-1 
Westminster  Abbey,  221-3,  251-2, 

254.  305,  318,  351,  367,  669 

,  Canonry  of,  272,  309 

Westminster  Gazette,  674 
Westminstei-  Review,  222 

Tower,  599 

Westmorland,  420,  525  v. 

Wexford,  6 

Whately,  Archbishop,  43, 142. 158, 

164 
White,  James,  50-1 

,  Mr,  684 

,  Sir  George,  51 

Whitman,  Walt.,  640 
Wicksteed,  Rev.  C,  329-31 
Wife's    portrait,    how    to    paint, 

615-16 


718 


INDEX 


Wilberforce,  Bishop,  213 
Wilkinson.  Bishop  of  St  Andrew's, 

109 
Williams,  Dr  Rowland,  134 
William  II,  Kaiser,  611,  652,  655, 

657 
Wills,  the  actor,  428 
Wilson,  H.  B.,  185-6 
Wilsons,  the,  414 
Wimbledon,  442 
Windsor,  215,  246,  250-1 

Private  Chapel  at,  178,  189-90, 
214-20,  251 
Wingfield,  the  Hon,  Mrs,  412,  533, 

629 
Wise,  Mr,  671 
Woking,  676 
Wolseley,  Mrs  C,  2 
Women,  504,  523,  560-1,  610 
influence  of,  43,  92,  113,  599 
friendships  with,  74,  77,  83,  99- 
100,    279,    368,     402-3,    417, 
513-14,  519-20,  542 
movement,  117,  126,  569,  606 
sympathy   with,   29,   110,   148- 
150,  214, 278-80 
Woolner,  50,  237-8 
Worcester,  Bishop  of,  28 
Wordsworth,   73,   83,  87,   89,  93, 
138,  261,  283,  288,  292,  304-5, 
364,  439,  457,  506,  511,  545, 
547,  637,  644,  647,  674 


Wordsworth — 
Parody  of  "  The  world  is  too 

much  with  us  .   .  .,"  272 
"  Prelude,"  78,  114 
"  Sonnet    on    the    Extinction 

of   the  Venetian  Kepublio," 

184 

,  Canon,  160,  164 

Working    men,    relations     with, 

131-2,  192,  306-8 
Workolatry,  440-1 
Worship,  public,  595,  611 
Wray,  Anne,  7 
Wi-ays  of  Wray  Castle,  the,  7 
Wright,  Prank,  359-60 
Wulric,  Cheshire  ancestor,  7 
Wycliffe  Hall,  27 
Wyndham,  Et  Hon.  G.,  544 
Wvre,  Forest  of,  27 
Wvton,  father's  rectory,  147,  177 

180-1,  184-5,  187-8, 190,  235, 

238,  263-4,  292 


Yellow  Book  [of  Fairy  Tales],  518 
Yorkshire,  236,  271,  435-6 
Young,  Miss,  of  Lahard,  4 


Zeppelins,  660,  669-70 
Zermatt,  256  v.,  271,  383 
Zoological  Gardens,  389,  512 


THE    END 


PKlNTF.l)    BV  WILLIAM    (.■I.OWRS   AKL)  SONS,    LIMITED,    LONDON    AND   BECCLES,   ENGLAND. 


Date  Due 

Ap  27  "39 

f) 

